UC-NRLF 


B    3    3ES    E7b 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE  SH1TEMUC. 


^/?-  ^ 


AUTHOR    OF    THE    "WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD." 


A  wise  man  is  strong. 

Proverbs  xxiv,  5. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.    APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

346   &  848  BEOADWAY. 

1858. 


% 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S56,  by 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 


In  the  Clerk1! 


Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southeix 
District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

CHAP.  I.  Looking  over  the  Hills 1 

II.  Footsteps  following 11 

III.  The  governor  baking  hoe-cakes 17 

IV.  Fishing,  off  Point  Bluff,  for  mackerel  and  fortunes 26 

V.  Making  a  net  of  an  old  dictionary  and  grammar 40 

VI.  Comes  back  to  common  tackle .51 

VII.  Discussion  over  a  pan  of  potatoes 62 

Vni.  Down  to  Cowslip's  Mill,  of  a  June  evening 72 

IX.  Bright  Spot 83 

X.  Theories  and  Huckleberries..... 96 

XL  The  ploughs  and  the  ladies 114 

XH.  Boxes  packed  for  Shagarack 123 

XIII.  Junior  and  Sophomore 133 

XTV.  A  quotation  from  Plato,  and  a  letter  from  home 141 

XV.  Leaving  the  Hills 150 

XVI.  Michael  and  the  wheelbarrow 160 

XVII.  A  little  extra-strong  machinery 171 

XVIII.  Rufus  in  a  ruffled  shirt,  and  Mr.  Haye  in  cameo 185 

XIX.  Catching  a  Clam 198 

XX.  As  to  money-bags 213 

XXI.  The  bursting  of  a  shell 224 


M174938 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

CHAP.  XXII.  The  governor's  palace 236 

XXIII.  On  self-command 245 

XXIV.  Mr.  Underbill's  mission 253 

XXV.  Clam  and  her  mistress 266 

XXVI.  The  brother  and  sister 275 

XXVII.  Lawsnits,  friendly  and  not .' 290 

XXVIII.  Elizabeth  goes  to  the  University .. 306 

XXIX.  Moonlight  on  the  Shatemuc. 320 

XXX.  Daylight  on  Wut-a-qut-o 331 

XXXI.  The  Cotton  business 345 

XXXII.  Before  Chancellor  Justice 359 

XXXHI.  Life  work 369 

XXXIV.  Other  work. 375 

XXXV.  Another  night  en  the  Julia  Ann , 392 

XXXVI.  Miss  Haye's  breakfast 410 

XXXVII.  The  governor's  supper 426 

XXXVIII.  Wood-cutting  on  Shahweetah 434 

XXXIX.  Old  Karen's  song 443 

XL.  Proposals 453 

XLI.  Flint  and  steel 468 

XLII.  Something  wanted  for  company 484 

XLIII.  The  election  for  Governor 494 

XLIV.  General  Review 505 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Low  stirrings  in  the  leaves,  before  the  wind 
Wakes  all  the  green  strings  of  the  Merest  lyre. 

Lowell. 

The  light  of  an  early  Spring  morning,  shining  fair  on  upland  and 
lowland,  promised  a  good  day  for  the  farmer's  work.  And  where 
a  film  of  thin  smoke  stole  up  over  the  tree-tops,  into  the  sunshine 
which  had  not  yet  got  so  low,  there  stood  the  farmer's  house. 

It  was  a  little  brown  house,  built  surely  when  its  owner's 
means  were  not  greater  than  his  wishes,  and  probably  some  time 
before  his  family  had  reached  the  goodly  growth  it  boasted  now. 
All  of  them  were  gathered  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"  Boys,  you  may  take  the  oxen,  and  finish  ploughing  that  up- 
land field — I  shall  be  busy  all  day  sowing  wheat  in  the  bend 
meadow." 

"  Then  I'll  bring  the  boat  for  you,  papa,  at  noon,"  said  a 
child  on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

a  And  see  if  you  can  keep  those  headlands  as  clean  as  I  have 
left  them." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Shall  you  want  the  horses,  father,  or  shall  we 
take  both  the  oxen  ?  " 

"  Both  ? — both  pairs,  you  mean — yes ;  I  shall  want  the 
horses.     I  mean  to  make  a  finish  of  that  wheat  lot." 

"  Mamma,  you   must   send   us    our   dinner,"   said  a  fourth 
speaker,  and  the  eldest  of  the  boys ; — "  it'll  be  too  confoundedly 
hot  to  come  home." 
1 


2  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Yes,  it's  going  to  be  a  warm  day,"  said  the  father. 

"  Who's  to  bring  it  to  you,  Will  ?  "  said  the  mother. 

"  Asahel — can't  he — when  he  brings  the  boat  for  papa  ?  " 

"  The  boat  won't  go  to  the  top  of  the  hill,"  said  Asahel;  "  and 
it's  as  hot  for  me  as  for  other  folks,  I  guess." 

"  You  take  the  young  oxen,  Winthrop,"  said  the  farmer, 
pushing  back  his  chair  from  the  table. 

"  Why,  sir  ?  "  said  the  eldest  son  promptly. 

"  I  want  to  give  you  the  best,"  answered  his  father,  with  a 
touch  of  comicality  about  the  lines  of  his  face. 

"  Are  you  afraid  I  shall  work  them  too  hard  ?  " 

u  That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  they'd  do  for  you." 

He  went  out ;  and  his  son  attended  to  his  breakfast  in  si- 
lence, with  a  raised  eyebrow  and  a  curved  lip. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Winthrop  ? "  the  mother  presently 
called  to  her  second  son,  who  had  disappeared,  and  was  rummag- 
ing somewhere  behind  the  scenes. 

"  Only  a  basket,  mamma," — came  from  the  pantry. 

His  mother  got  up  from  table,  and  basket  in  hand  followed 
him,  to  where  he  was  busy  with  a  big  knife  in  the  midst  of  her 
stores.  Slices  of  bread  were  in  course  of  buttering,  and  lay  in 
ominous  number  piled  up  on  the  yellow  shelf.  Hard  by  stood  a 
bowl  of  cold  boiled  potatoes.  He  was  at  work  with  dexterity  as 
neat-handed  and  as  quick  as  a  woman's. 

"  There's  no  pork  there,  Governor,"  his  mother  whispered  as 
he  stooped  to  the  cupboard, — "  your  father  made  an  end  of  that 
last  night; — but  see — here " 

And  from  another  quarter  she  brought  out  a  pie.  Being 
made  of  dried  apples,  it  was  not  too  juicy  to  cut ;  and  being  cut 
into  huge  pieces  thoy  were  stowed  into  the  basket,  lapping  over 
each  other,  till  little  room  was  left ;  and  cheese  and  gingerbread 
went  in  to  fill  that.  And  then  as  her  hands  pressed  the  lid  down 
and  his  hands  took  the  basket,  the  eyes  met,  and  a  quick  little 
smile  of  great  brilliancy,  that  entirely  broke  up  the  former  calm 
lines  of  his  face,  answered  her ;  for  he  said  nothing.  And  the 
mother's  "  Now  go  !  " — was  spoken  as  if  she  had  enough  of  him  left 
at  home  to  keep  her  heart  warm  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

The  two  ploughmen  set  forth  with  their  teams.  Or  ploughboys 
rather ;  for  the  younger  of  them  as  yet  had  seen  not  sixteen  years. 
His  brother  must  have  been  several  in  advance  of  him. 

The  farmhouse  was  placed  on  a  little  woody  and  rocky  promon- 
tory jutting  out  into  a  broad  river  from  the  east  shore.  Above  it, 
on  the  higher  grounds  of  the  shore,  the  main  body  of  the  farm 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  6 

lay,  where  a  rich  tableland  sloped  back  to  a  mountainous  ridge 
that  framed  it  in,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  water.  Cultivation 
had  stretched  its  hands  near  to  the  top  of  this  ridge  and  driven 
back  the  old  forest,  that  yet  stood  and  looked  over  from  the  other 
side.  One  or  two  fields  were  but  newly  cleared,  as  the  black 
stumps  witnessed.  Many  another  told  of  good  farming,  and  of  a 
substantial  reward  for  the  farmer ;  at  what  cost  obtained  they  did 
not  tell. 

Towards  one  of  these  upland  fields,  half  made  ready  for  a 
crop  of  spring  grain,  the  boys  took  their  way.  On  first  leaving 
the  house,  the  road  led  gently  along  round  the  edge  of  a  little 
bay,  of  which  the  promontory  formed  the  northern  horn.  Just 
before  reaching  the  head  of  the  bay,  where  the  road  made  a  sharp 
turn  and  began  to  ascend  to  the  tableland,  it  passed  what  was 
called  the  bend  meadow. 

It  was  a  very  lovely  morning  of  early  Spring,  one  of  those 
days  when  nature  seems  to  have  hushed  herself  to  watch  the  buds 
she  has  set  a  swelling.  Promising  to  be  warm,  though  a  little 
freshness  from  the  night  still  lingered  in  the  air.  Everywhere  on 
the  hills  the  soft  colours  of  the  young  Spring-time  were  starting 
out,  that  delicate  livery  which  is  so  soon  worn.  They  were  more 
soft  to-day  under  a  slight  sultry  haziness  of  the  atmosphere — a 
luxurious  veil  that  Spring  had  coyly  thrown  over  her  face ;  she 
was  always  a  shy  damsel.  It  soothed  the  light,  it  bewitched  the 
distance,  it  lay  upon  the  water  like  a  foil  to  its  brightness,  it  lay 
upon  the  mind  with  a  subtle  charm  winning  it  to  rest  and  enjoy. 
It  etherealized  Earth  till  it  was  no  place  to  work  in.  But  there 
went  the  oxen,  and  the  ploughmen. 

The  one  as  silently  as  the  other ;  till  the  bay  was  left  behind 
and  they  came  to  the  point  where  the  road  began  to  go  up  to  the 
tableland.  Just  under  the  hill  here  was  a  spring  of  delicious 
water,  always  flowing ;  and  filling  a  little  walled  up  basin. 

Will,  or  Will  Rufus,  as  his  father  had  long  ago  called  him, 
had  passed  on  and  begun  to  mount  the  hill.  Winthrop  stopped 
his  oxen  till  he  should  fill  a  large  stone  jug  for  the  day.  The  jug 
had  a  narrow  neck,  and  he  was  stooping  at  the  edge  of  the  basin, 
waiting  for  the  water  to  flow  in,  when  his  head  and  shoulders 
made  a  sudden  plunge  and  the  jug  and  he  soused  in  together. 
Not  for  any  want  of  steadiness  in  either  of  them ;  the  cause  of 
the  plunge  was  a  worthless  fellow  who  was  coming  by  at  the  mo- 
ment. He  had  a  house  a  little  way  off  on  the  bay.  He  lived  by 
fishing  and  farming  alternately ;  and  was  often,  and  was  then, 
employed  by  Mr.  Landholm  as  an  assistant  in  his  work.  He  was 
I 


4  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

on  his  way  to  the  bend  meadow,  and  passing  close  by  Winthrop  at 
the  spring,  the  opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  resisted ;  he  tipped 
him  over  into  the  water. 

The  boy  soon  scrambled  out,  and  shaking  himself  like  a  great 
water-dog,  and  with  about  as  much  seeming  concern,  fixed  a  calm 
eye  on  his  delighted  enemy. 

"  Well,  Sam  Doolittle, — what  good  has  that  done  anybody  ?  " 

"  Ha'n't  it  done  you  none,  Governor  ?  " 

«  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well !  I  think  you  be  a  cool  one — and  the  easiest  customer 
ever  I  see." 

"  I've  a  mind  it  shall  do  somebody  good ;  so  see  you  don't 
give  my  father  any  occasion  to  be  out  with  you ,  for  if  you  do,  I'll 
give  him  more." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  man  comfortably,  "  you  won't  tell  on  me. 
Hi !  here's  somebody !  " 

It  was  Rufus  who  suddenly  joined  the  group,  whip  in  hand, 
and  looking  like  a  young  Achilles  in  ploughman's  coat  and  trousers. 
No  fc  Achilles'  port  could  be  more  lordly ;  the  very  fine  bright 
iiazel  eye  was  on  fire ;  the  nostril  spoke,  and  the  lip  quivered ; 
though  he  looked  only  at  his  brother. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  I've  been  in  the  water,  as  you  see,"  said  his  brother  com- 
posedly.    "  I  want  a  change  of  clothes,  rather." 

"  How  did  you  get  into  the  water  ?  " 

11  Why,  head  foremost — which  wasn't  what  I  meant  to  do." 

"Sam,  you  put  him  in  !  " 

a  He,  he  ! — well,  M?.  Rufus,  maybe  I  helped  him  a  leetle." 

"  You  scoundrel !  "  said  Rufus,  drawing  the  whip  through  hia 
fingers  ;  "  what  did  you  do  it  for  ?  " 

"  He,  he  ! — I  didn't  know  but  what  it  was  you,  Will." 

For  all  answer,  the  ox-whip  was  laid  about  Sam's  legs,  with 
the  zest  of  furious  indignation;  a  fury  there  was  no  standing 
against.  It  is  true,  Rufus's  frame  was  no  match  for  the  hardened 
one  of  Mr.  Doolittle  though  he  might  be  four  or  five  years  the 
elder  of  the  two  boys ;  but  the  spirit  that  was  in  him  cowed  Sam, 
in  part,  and  in  part  amused  him.  He  made  no  offer  to  return  the 
blows ;  he  stood,  or  rather  jumped,  as  the  whip  slung  itself  round 
his  legs,  crying  out, 

"  Lay  it  on.  Will !— Lay  it  on  !  Hi— That's  right— Tuck  it  on, 
Will  ! " 

Till  Will's  arm  was  tired ;  and  flinging  away  from  them,  in  a 
towering  passion  still,  he  went  up  the  hill  after  his  oxen.  Sam 
rubbed  his  legs.  • 


THE    HILLS     OF     THE     SHATEMUC.  5 

u  I  say,  Governor,  we're  quits  now,  ben't  we  ?  "  he  said  in  a 
sort  of  mock  humble  good-humour,  as  Winthrop  was  about  to  fol- 
low his  brother. 

"  Yes,  yes.     Be  off  with  yourself !  " 

"I  wish  it  had  ha'  been  'tother  one,  anyhow,"  muttered  Sam. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  the  brothers  about  either  the 
ducking  or  the  flagellation.  They  spoke  not  but  to  their  oxen. 
Rufus's  mouth  was  in  the  heroic  style  yet,  all  the  way  up  the 
hill;  and  the  lips  of  the  other  only  moved  once  or  twice  to 
smile. 

The  day  was  sultry,  as  it  had  promised,  and  the  uphill  lay  of 
the  ground  made  the  ploughing  heavy,  and  frequent  rests  of  the 
oxen  were  necessary.  Little  communication  was  held  between 
the  ploughmen  nevertheless;  the  day  wore  on,  and  each  kept 
steadily  to  his  work  and  seemingly  to  his  own  thoughts.  The 
beautiful  scene  below  them,  which  they  were  alternately  facing 
and  turning  their  backs  upon,  was  too  well  known  even  to  delay 
their  attention ;  and  for  the  greater  part  .of  the  day  probably 
neither  of  them  saw  much  beyond  his  plough  and  his  furrow. 

They  were  at  work  on  a  very  elevated  point  of  view,  from  which 
the  channel  of  the  river  and  the  high  grounds  on  the  other  side 
were  excellently  seen.  Valley  there  was  hardly  any  ;  the  up-spring- 
ing walls  of  green  started  from  the  very  border  of  the  broad  white 
stream  which  made  its  way  between  them.  They  were  nowhere  les3 
than  two  hundred  feet  high ;  above  that,  moulded  in  all  manner 
of  heights  and  hollows;  sometimes  reaching  up  abruptly  to 
twelve  or  fourteen  hundred  feet,  and  sometimes  stretching  away 
in  long  gorges  and  gentle  declivities, — hills  grouping  behind  hills. 
In  Summer  all  these  were  a  mass  of  living  green,  that  the  eye 
could  hardly  arrange ;  under  Spring's  delicate  marshalling  every 
little  hill  took  its  own  place,  and  the  soft  swells  of  ground  stood 
back  the  one  from  the  other,  in  more  and  more  tender  colouring. 
The  eye  leapt  from  ridge  to  ridge  of  beauty  ;  not  green  now,  but 
in  the  very  point  of  the  bursting  leaf,  taking  what  hue  it  pleased 
the  sun.  It  was  a  dainty  day;  and  it  grew  more  dainty  as  the 
day  drew  towards  its  close  and  the  lights  and  shadows  stretched 
athwart  the  landscape  again.  The  sun-touched  lines  and  spots  of 
the  mountains  now,  in  some  places,  were  of  a  bright  orange,  and 
the  shadows  between  them  deep  neutral  tint  or  blue.  And  the 
river,  apparently,  had  stopped  running  to  reflect. 

The  oxen  were  taking  one  of  their  rests,  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  day,  and  Winthrop  was  sitting  on  the  beam  of  his  plough, 
when  for  the  first  time  Rufus  came  and  joined  him.     He  sat 


6  TIIE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHC. 

down  in  silence  and  without  so  much  as  looking  at  his  brother ; 
and  both  in  that  warm  and  weary  day  sat  a  little  while  quietly 
looking  over  the  water ;  or  perhaps  at  the  little  point  of  rest,  the 
little  brown  spot  among  the  trees  on  the  promontory,  where  home 
and  mother  and  little  baby  sister,  and  the  end  of  the  day,  and  the 
heart's  life,  had  their  sole  abiding-place.  A  poor  little  shrine,  to 
hold  so  much ! 

Winthrop's  eyes  were  there,  his  brother's  were  on  the  dis- 
tance. When  did  such  two  ever  sit  together  on  the  beam  of  one 
plough,  before  or  since!  Perhaps  the  eldest  might  have  seen 
nineteen  summers,  but  his  face  had  nothing  of  the  boy,  beyond 
the  fresh  colour  and  fine  hue  of  youth.  The  features  were  ex- 
ceedingly noble,  and  even  classically  defined ;  the  eye  as  beau- 
tiful now  in  its  grave  though tfulness  as  it  had  been  a  few  hours 
before  in  its  fire.  The  mouth  was  never  at  rest ;  it  was  twitch- 
ing or  curving  at  the  corners  now  with  the  working  of  some 
hidden  cogitations.  The  frame  of  the  younger  brother  was  less 
developed ;  it  promised  to  be  more  athletic  than  that  of  the  elder, 
with  perhaps  somewhat  less  grace  of  outline ;  and  the  face  was  not 
so  regularly  handsome.  A  very  cool  and  clear  grey  eye  aided  the 
impression  of  strength ;  and  the  mouth,  less  beautifully  moulded 
than  that  of  Rufus,  was  also  infinitely  less  demonstrative.  Rufus's 
mouth,  in  silence,  was  for  ever  saying  something.  Winthrop's  for 
the  most  part  kept  its  fine  outlines  unbroken,  though  when  they 
did  give  way  it  was  to  singular  effect.  The  contrast  between  the 
faces  was  striking,  even  now  when  ooth  were  in  repose. 

The  elder  was  the  first  to  break  silence,  speaking  slowly  and 
without  moving  his  eye  from  its  bent. 

"Governor, — what  do  you  suppose  lies  behind  those  moun- 
tains ?  " 

"  What  ?  ' — said  Winthrop  quickly. 

The  other  smiled. 

"  Your  slew  understanding  can  make  a  quick  leap  now  and 
then." 

"  I  can  generally  understand  you,"  said  his  brother  quietly. 

Rufus  added  no  more  for  a  little,  and  Winthrop  let  him 
alone. 

«  We've  got  the  farm  in  pretty  good  order  now,"  he  re- 
marked presently  in  a  considerate  tone,  folding  his  arms  and 
looking  about  him. 

"  Papa  has,"  observed  Winthrop.  "  Yes — if  those  stumps 
were  out  once.  We  ought  to  have  good  crops  this  year,  of  most 
things ." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  7 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  spent  four  or  five  years  of  my  life  in  hard 
work  upon  it,"  said  the  other. 

"  Your  life  ain't  much  the  worse  of  it,'*  said  Winthrop,  laugh- 
ingly. 

E-ufus  did  not  answer  the  laugh.  He  looked  off  to  the  hills 
again,  and  his  lips  seemed  to  close  in  upon  his  thoughts. 

"  Papa  has  spent  more  than  that,"  said  the  younger  brother 
gravely.    "  How  hard  he  has  worked — to  make  this  farm  ! " 

"  Well,  he  has  made  it." 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  paid  a  dozen  years  of  his  life  for  it.  And 
mamma! " 

"  It  was  a  pretty  tough  subject  to  begin  with,"  said  the  elder, 
looking  about  him  again.  "  But  it's  a  nice  farm  now ; — it's  the 
handsomest  farm  in  the  county ; — it  ought  to  pay  considerable 
now,  after  this." 

u  It  hasn't  brought  us  in  much  so  far,"  observed  Winthrop, 
"  except  just  to  keep  along ; — and  a  pretty  tight  fit  at  that." 

"  The  house  ought  to  be  up  here,"  said  Rufus,  considering 
the  little  distant  brown  speck; — "it  would  be  worth  twice  as 
much." 

"What  would?" 

«  Why  !— the  farm  !  " 

"  The  house  wouldn't,"  said  Winthrop, — "  not  to  my  notions.'1 

"  It's  confoundedly  out  of  the  way,  down  there,  a  mile  off 
from  the  work." 

"  Only  a  quarter  of  that,  and  a  little  better,"  said  Winthrop 
calmly. 

"  A  little  worse  ! — There's  a  great  loss  of  time.  There  would 
be  twice  as  much  work  done  if  the  house  was  up  here." 

"/couldn't  stand  it,"  said  Winthrop.  "How  came  it  the 
house  was  put  down  there  ?  " 

"  Papa  bought  the  point  first  and  built  the  house,  before  ever 
he  pushed  his  acquirements  so  far  as  this.  He  would  be  wise, 
now,  to  let  that,  and  build  another  up  here  somewhere." 

"  It  wouldn't  pay,"  said  the  younger  brother ;  "  and  for  one, 
I'm  not  sorry." 

"  If  the  farm  was  clear,"  said  the  elder,  "  I'd  stand  the  chance 
of  it's  paying;  it's  that  keeps  us  down." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  That  debt." 

"What  debt?" 

"  Why,  the  interest  on  the  mortgage." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  of." 


8  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Why,"  said  Rufus  a  little  impatiently,  "  don't  you  know 
that  when  papa  bought  the  property  he  couldn't  pay  off  the  whole 
price  right  down,  and  so  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the  rest  owing, 
and  give  security." 

"  What  security  ?  " 

"  Why,  a  mortgage  on  the  farm,  as  I  told  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  mortgage  ?  " 

"Why  he  gave  a  right  over  the  farm — a  right  to  sell  the 
farm  at  a  certain  time,  if  the  debt  was  not  paid  and  the  interest 
upon  it." 

"  What  is  the  debt  ?  " 

"  Several  thousands,  I  believe." 

"  And  how  much  does  he  have  to  pay  upon  that  every  year  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  exactly — one  or  two,  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars ;  and  that  keeps  us  down,  you  see,  till  the  mortgage  is 
paid  off." 

"  I  didn't  know  that." 

They  sat  silent  a  little  time.     Then  Winthrop  said, 

"  You  and  I  must  pay  that  money  off,  Will." 

«  Ay but  still  there's  a  question  which  is  the  best  way  to 

do  it,"  said  Rufus. 

"  The  best  way,  I've  a  notion,"  said  Winthrop  looking  round 
at  his  cattle, — "  is  not  to  take  too  long  noon-spells  in  the  after- 
noon." 

"  Stop  a  bit.  Sit  down  ! — I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Bo  you 
want  to  spend  all  your  life  following  the  oxen  ?  " 

Winthrop  stopped  certainly,  but  he  waited  in  silence. 

"/don't!" 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — something " 

"  What  is  the  matter/Will  ?  " 

"  Matter  ?  " — said  the  other,  while  his  fine  features  shewed  the 
changing  lights  and  shadows  of  a  summer  day, — "  why  Winthrop, 
that  I  am  not  willing  to  stay  here  and  be  a  ploughman  all  my 
life,  when  I  might  be  something  better  !  " 

The  other's  heart  beat.  But  after  an  instant  he  answered 
calmly, 

"  How  can  you  be  anything  better,  Will  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  all  the  world  lies  under  the  shadow  of  Wut  a- 
qut-o?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  all  the  world  is  like  this  little  world  which 
those  hills  shut  in  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  9 

"  No," — said  Winthrop,  his  eye  going  over  to  the  blue  depths 
and  golden  ridge-tops,  which  it  did  not  see ;  "  — but " 

"  Where  does  that  river  lead  to  ?  " 

"  It  leads  to  Mannahatta.     What  of  that  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  world  there,  Winthrop, — another  sort  of  world, — 
where  people  know  something ;  where  other  things  are  to  be  done 
than  running  plough  furrows  ;  where  men  may  distinguish  them- 
selves ! — where  men  may  read  and  write ;  and  do  something 
great ;  and  grow  to  be  something  besides  what  nature  made  them ! 
— I  want  to  be  in  that  world." 

They  both  paused. 

"  But  what  will  you  do,  Rufus,  to  get  into  that  world  ? — we 
are  shut  in  here." 

"Jam  not  shut  in  !  "  said  the  elder  brother ;  and  brow  and 
lip  and  nostril  said  it  over  again ; — "  I  will  live  for  something 
greater  than  this !  " 

There  was  a  deep-drawn  breath  from  the  boy  at  his  side. 

"  So  would  I,  if  I  could.     But  what  can  we  do  ?  " 

How  difficult  it  was  to  do  anything,  both  felt.  But  after  a 
deliberate  pause  of  some  seconds,  Rufus  answered, 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do. — I  shall  go  to  College." 

"  To  College  !— Will  ?  " 

The  changes  in  the  face  of  the  younger  boy  were  sudden  and 
startling.  One  moment  the  coronation  of  hope;  the  next  mo- 
ment despair  had  thrown  the  coronet  off;  one  more,  and  the  hand 
of  determination, — like  Napoleon's, — had  placed  it  firmly  on  his 
brow  j  and  it  was  never  shaken  again.  But  he  said  nothing ;  and 
both  waited  a  little,  till  thoughts  could  find  words. 

"  Rufus, — do  papa  and  mamma  know  about  this  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  What  will  they  think  of  it  ?  " 

I  don't  know — they  must  think  of  it  as  I  do.  My  mind  is 
made  up.     I  can't  stay  here." 

"  But  some  preparation  is  necessary,  Rufus,  ain't  it  ? — wo 
must  know  more  than  we  do  before  we  can  go  to  College,  mustn't 
we  ?     How  will  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  1  don't  know,  I  will  get  it.     Preparation ! — yes !  "     . 

"  Father  will  want  us  both  at  home  this  summer." 

"  Yes — this  summer — I  suppose  we  must.  We  must  do  some* 
thing we  must  talk  to  them  at  home  about  it, — gradually." 

"  If  we  had  books,  we  could  do  a  great  deal  at  home." 

"  Yes,  if, But  we  haven't.     And  we  must  have  more  time, 

We  couldn't  do  it  at  home." 
1* 


10  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

*"  Papa  wants  us  this  summer. — And  I  don't  see  how  he  can 
spare  us  at  all,  Rufus." 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  let  us  go,"  said  the  other  steadily,  though 
with  a  touch  of  trouble  in  his  face. 

"  We  are  just  beginning  to  help  him." 

u  We  can  help  him  much  better  the  other  way,"  said  Rufus 
quickly.  "  Farming  is  the  most  miserable  slow  way  of  making 
money  that  ever  was  contrived." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  make  money  ?  "  inquired  his  brother 
coolly. 

"  I  don't  know  !  I  am  not  thinking  of  making  money  at  pres- 
ent ! " 

"  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  go  to  College,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

And  again  there  was  a  little  silence.  And  the  eyes  of  both 
were  fixed  on  the  river  and  the  opposite  hills,  while  they  saw 
only  that  distant  world  and  the  vague  barrier  between. 

"  But  I  intend  to  go,  Winthrop,"  said  his  brother  looking  at 
him,  with  fire  enough  in  his  face  to  burn  up  obstacles. 

"  Yes,  you  will  go,"  the  younger  said  calmly.  The  cool  grey 
eye  did  not  speak  the  internal,  "  So  will  I !  " — which  stamped  it- 
self upon  his  heart.     They  got  up  from  the  plough  beam. 

*'  I'll  try  for't,"  was  Rufus's  conclusion,  as  he  shook  himself. 

"  You'll  get  it,"  said  Winthrop. 

There  was  much  love  as  well  as  ambition  in  the  delighted 
look  with  which  his  brother  rewarded  him.  They  parted  to  their 
work.  They  ploughed  the  rest  of  their  field : — what  did  they 
turn  over  besides  the  soil  ? 

They  wended  their  slow  way  back  with  the  oxen  when  the 
evening  fell ;  but  the  yoke  was  off  their  own  necks.  The  linger- 
ing western  light  coloured  another  world  than  the  morning  had 
shined  upon.  No  longer  bondsmen  of  the  soil,  they  trode  it  like 
masters.  They  untackled  their  oxen  and  let  them  out,  with  the 
spirit  of  men  whose  future  work  was  to  be  in  a  larger  field. 
Only  Hope's  little  hand  had  lifted  the  weight  from  their  heads. 
And  Hope's  only  resting  point  was  determination. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

A  quiet  smile  played  round  his  lips, 

As  the  eddies  and  dimples  of  the  tide 

Play  round  the  hows  of  ships, 

That  steadily  at  anchor  ride.  * 

And  with  a  voice  that  was  full  of  glee, 

He  answered,  "  ere  long  we  will  launch 

A  vessel  as  goodly,  and  strong,  and  stanch, 

As  ever  weathered  a  wintry  sea. 

LoNCf4u:o"W. 

"  The  ploughing's  all  done ;  thank  fortune  !  "  exclaimed  Rufus 
as  lie  came  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Well,  don't  leave  your  hat  there  in  the  middle  of  the  floor," 
said  his  mother. 

"  Yes,  it  just  missed  knocking  the  tea-cups  and  saucers  off  the 
table,"  said  little  Asahel. 

"  It  hasn't  missed  knocking  you  off  your  balance,"  said  his 
brother  tartly.     "  Do  you  know  where  your  pwn  hat  is  ?." 

"  It  hain't  knocked  me  off  anything !  "  stid  Asahel.  "  It 
didn't  touch  me  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  w'iere  your  own  hat  is  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  does  it  matter/  Will  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  It's  hanging  out  of  doors,  on  the  handle  of  the  grindstone." 

"It  ain't!" 

"  Yes  it  is ; — on  the  grindstone." 

"  No  it  isn't,"  said  Winthrop  coming  in,  "  for  I've  got  it  here. 
There — see  to  it  Asahel.  Mamma,  papa's  come.  We've  done 
ploughing." 

And  down  went  his  hat,  but  not  on  the  floor. 

"  Look  at  Winifred,  Governor — she  has  been  calling  for  you 
all  day." 

The  boy  turned  to  a  flaxen-haired,  rosy-cheeked,  little  tod- 


12  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

dling  thing  of  three  or  four  years  old,  at  his  feet,  and  took  her  up, 
to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  both  parties.  Her  head  nestled  in 
his  neck  and  her  little  hand  patted  his  cheek  with  great  approval 
and  contentment. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Asahel,  "  what  makes  you  call  Winthrop  Gov- 
ernor ? — he  isn't  a  governor." 

"  Ask  your  father.     And  run  and  tell  him  tea's  just  ready." 

The  father  came  in ;  and  the  tea  was  made,  and  the  whole 
party  sat  down  to  table.  A  homely,  but  a  very  cheerful  and 
happy  board.  The  supper  was  had  in  the  kitchen ;  the  little,  re- 
mains of  the  fire  that  had  boiled  the  kettle  were  not  amiss  after 
the  damps  of  evening  fell ;  and  the  room  itself,  with  its  big  fire- 
place, high  dark-painted  wainscoting,  and  even  the  clean  boarcl 
floor,  was  not  the  least  agreeable  in  the  house.  And  the  faces 
and  figures  that  surrounded  the  table  were  manly,  comely,  and 
intelligent,  in  a  high  degree. 

"  Well, — I've  got  through  with  that  wheat  field,"  said  Mr. 
Landholm,  as  he  disposed  of  a  chicken  bone. 

"  Have  you  got  through  sowing  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Sowing ! — no  ! — Winthrop,  I  guess  you  must  go  into  the 
garden  to-morrow — I  can't  attend  to  anything  else  till  I  get  my 
grain  in." 

"  Won't  you  plant  some  sweet  corn  this  year,  Mr.  Landholm  ? 
— it's  a  great  deal  better  for  cooking." 

"  Well,  I  dont  know — I  guess  the  field  corn's  sweet  enough 
I  haven't  much  time  to  attend  to  sugar  things.  What  I  look  rbi 
is  substantiate. " 

"  Aren't  sweet  things  substantial,  sir  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  WeW. — yes,-#-in  a  sort  they  are,"  said  his  father  laughing, 
and  looking  at  the  little  fat  creature  who  was  still  in  her  brother's 
arms  and  giving  him  the  charge  of  her  supper  as  well  as  his  own. 
"  I  know  some  sweet  things  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  without." 

"  Talking  of  substantiate,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  "  there's  wood 
wanting  to  be  got.  I  am  almost  out.  I  had  hardly  enough  to 
cook  supper." 

"  Don't  want  much  fire  in  this  weather,"  said  the  father. 
"  However — we  can't  get  along  very  well  without  supper. — Rufus, 
I  guess  you'll  have  to  go  up  into  the  woods  to-morrow  with  the 
ox-sled — you  and  Sam  Doolittle — back  of  the  pine  wood — 
you'll  find  enough  dead  trees  there,  I  guess." 

"  I  think,"  said  Rufus,  "  that  if  you  think  of  it,  what  are  call- 
ed substantial  things  are  the  least  substantial  of  any — they  are 
only  the  scaffolding  of  the  other." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  13 

"  Of  what  other  ?  "  said  his  father. 

"  Of  the  things  which  really  last,  sir, — the  things  which  "belong 
to  the  mind — tkings  which  have  to  do  with  something  besides  the 
labour  of  to-day  and  the  labour  of  to-morrow." 

"  The  labour  of  to-day  and  the  labour  of  to-morrow  are  pretty 
necessary  though,"  said  his  father  dryly;  "  we  must  eat,  in  the 
first  place.  You  must  keep  the  body  alive  before  the  mind  can 
do  much — at  least  I  have  found  it  so  in  my  own  experience." 

"  But  you  don't  think  the  less  of  the  other  kind  of  work,  sir, 
do  you  ?  "  said  Winthrop  looking  up ; — "  when  one  can  get  at 
it?" 

"  No  my  boy,"  said  the  father,—"  no,  Governor;  no  man  thinks 
more  highly  of  it  than  I  do.  It  has  always  been  my  desire  that 
you  and  Will  should  be  better  off  in  this  respect  than  I  have  ever 
been; — my  great  desire;  and  I  haven't  given  it  up,  neither." 

A  little  silence  of  all  parties. 

"  What  are  the  things  which  '  really  last,'  Rufus  ?  "  said  his 
mother. 

Rufus  made  some  slight  and  not  very  direct  answer,  but  the 
question  set  Winthrop  to  thinking. 

He  thought  all  the  evening;  or  rather  thought  and  fancy 
took  a  kind  of  whirligig  dance,  where  it  was  hard  to  tell  which 
was  which.  Visions  of  better  opportunities  than  his  father  ever 
had ; — of  reaching  a  nobler  scale  of  being  than  his  own  early  life 
had  promised  him ; — of  higher  walks  than  his  young  feet  had 
trod :  they  made  his  heart  big.  There  came  the  indistinct  pos- 
sibility of  raising  up  with  him  the  little  sister  he  held  in  his  arms, 
not  to  the  life  of  toil  which  their  mother  had  led,  but  to  some 
airy  unknown  regiDm  of  cultivation  and  refinement  and  elegant 
leisure; — hugely  unknown,  and  yet  surely  laid  hold  of  by  the 
mind's  want*  But  though  fancy  saw  her  for  a  moment  in  some 
strange  travestie  of  years  and  education  and  circumstances,  that 
was  only  a  flash  of  fancy — not  dwelt  upon.  Other  thoughts  were 
more  near  and  pressing,  though  almost  as  vague.  In  vain  he  en- 
deavoured to  calculate  expenses  that  he  did  not  know,  wants  that 
he  could  not  estimate,  difficulties  that  loomed  up  with  no  certain 
outline,  means  that  were  far  beyond  ken.  It  was  but  confusion ; 
except  his  purpose,  clear  and  steady  as  the  sun,  though  as  yet  it 
lighted  not  the  way  but  only  the  distant  goal ;  that  was  always 
in  sight.  And  under  all  these  thoughts,  little  looked  at  yet  fully 
recognized,  his  mother's  question ;  and  a  certain  security  that  she 
had  that  which  would  '  really  last.'  He  knew  it.  And  oddly 
enough,  when  he  took  his  candle  from  her  hand  that  night,  Win- 


14  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

throp,  though  himself  no  believer  unless  with  head  belief,  thanked 
God  in  his  heart  that  his  mother  was  a  Christian. 

Gradually  the  boys  disclosed  their  plan ;  or  rather  the  elder 
of  the  boys ;  for  Winthrop  being  so  much  the  younger,  for  the 
present  was  content  to  be  silent.  But  their  caution  was  little 
needed.  Rufus  was  hardly  more  ready  to  go  than  his  parents 
were  to  send  him, — if  they  could ;  and  in  their  case,  as  in  his,  the 
lack  of  power  was  made  up  by  will.  Rufus  should  have  an  educa- 
tion. He  should  go  to  College.  Not  more  cheerfully  on  his  part 
than  on  theirs  the  necessary  privations  were  met,  the  necessary 
penalty  submitted  to.  The  son  should  stand  on  better  ground 
than  the  father,  though  the  father  were  himself  the  stepping-stone 
that  he  might  reach  it. 

It  had  nothing  to  do  with  "Winthrop,  all  this.  Nothing  was 
said  of  him.  To  send  one  son  to  College  was  already  a  great 
stretch  of  effort,  and  of  possibility ;  to  send  two  was  far  beyond 
both.  Nobody  thought  of  it.  Except  the  one  left  out  of  their 
thoughts. 

The  summer  passed  in  the  diligent  companionship  of  the  oxen 
and  Sam  Doolittle.  But  when  the  harvests  were  gathered,  and 
the  fall  work  was  pretty  well  done ;  the  winter  grain  in  the  ground, 
and  the  November  winds  rustling  the  dry  leaves  from  the  trees, — 
the  strongest  branch  was  parted  from  the  family  tree,  in  the  hope 
that  it  might  take  root  and  thrive  better  on  its  own  stock  else- 
where. It  was  cheerfully  done,  all  round.  The  father  took 
bravely  the  added  burden  with  the  lessened  means ;  the  mother 
gave  her  strength  and  her  eyesight  to  make  the  needed  prepara- 
tions ;  and  to  supply  the  means  for  them,  all  pinched  themselves ; 
and  Winthrop  had  laid  upon  him  the  threefold  charge  of  his  own, 
his  brother's,  and  his  father's  duty.  For  Mr.  Landholm  had 
been  chosen  a  member  of  the  State  Legislature ;  and  he  too  would 
be  away  from  home  all  winter.  What  sort  of  a  winter  it  would 
be,  no  one  stopped  to  think,  but  all  were  willing  to  bear. 

The  morning  came  of  the  day  before  the  dreaded  Saturday, 
and  no  one  cared  to  look  at  another.  It  was  a  relief,  though  a 
hated  one,  to  see  a  neighbour  come  in.  Even  that,  Winthrop 
shunned ;  he  was  cleaning  the  harness  of  the  wagon,  and  he  took 
it  out  into  the  broad  stoop  outside  of  the  kitchen  door.  His 
mother  and  brother  and  the  children  soon  scattered  to  other  parts 
of  the  house. 

"  So  neighbour,"  said  Mr.  Underhill, — "  I  hear  tell  one  of  your 
sons  is  goin  off,  away  from  you  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  15 

"  Yes," — said  Mr.  Landholm,  pride  and  sorrow  struggling  to« 
gether  in  his  manner, — "  I  believe  he  is.'' 

"Where's  he  goin'?" 

"  To  Asphodel — in  the  first  place." 

"Asphodel,  eh?— What's  at  Asphodel?  " 

'  ■  What  do  you  mean  1 " 

*  What's  he  goin'  there  for?" 

"  To  pursue  his  studies — there's  an  Academy  at  Asphodel." 

"  An  Academy. — Hum. — And  so  he's  goin'  after  larnin'  is  he  ? 
And  what  '11  the  farmer  do  without  him  to  hum  ?  " 

"  Do  the  best  I  can — send  for  you,  neighbour  Underhill." 

"  Ha,  ha ! — well,  I  reckon  I've  got  enough  to  do  to  attend  to 
my  own." 

"  I  guess  you  don't  do  much  but  fish,  do  you  ? — there  under 
the  mountain  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  hain't  a  great  deal  of  ground.  You  can't 
run  corn  straight  up  a  hill,  can  you  ? — without  somethin'  to  stand 


on 


*;> 


"  Not  very  well." 

"  There  be  folks  that  like  that  kind  o'  way  o'  farming — but  I 
never  did  myself." 

11  No,  I'll  warrant  you,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  with  a  little  at- 
tempt at  a  laugh. 

"  Well — you  say  there's  an  Academy  at  Asphodel ; — then  he 
aint  going  to — a. — what  do  you  call  it  ? — Collegiate  Institu- 
tion?" 

"  No,  not  just  yet;  by  and  by  he'll  go  to  College,  I  expect. — * 
That's  what  he  wants  to  do." 

"  And  you  want  it  too,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes — I'll  do  the  best  I  can  by  my  children.  I  can't  do  as 
I  would  by  them  all,"  said  the  father,  with  a  mixture  of  pride 
expressed  and  pride  not  expressed, — "  but  I'll  try  to  make  a  man 
of  Willi" 

"  And  t'other  '11  make  a  man  of  himself,"  said  Mr.  Underhill, 
as  he  saw  Winthrop  quit  the  stoop.  "  He'll  never  run  a  plough 
up  the  side  of  a  house.  But  what  kind  of  a  man  are  you  going 
to  make  of  Will  ? — a  great  man  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know ! "  said  Mr.  Landholm  with  a  sigh. 
'*  That  must  be  as  Providence  directs." 

"  Hum — I  should  say  that  Providence  directs  you  to  keep 
'em  both  to  hum,"  said  Mr.  Underhill; — "but  that's  not  my  affair. 
Well,  I'm  going. — I  hear  you  are  goin'  to  be  in  Vantassel  this 
winter  ?  " 


16  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Yes — I'm  going  to  make  laws  for  you,"  Mr.  Landholn?  an 
swered  laughing. 

"  Well—"  said  Mr.  Underhill  taking  his  hat,— "  I  wish  they'd 
put  you  up  for  President — I'd  vote  for  you ! " 

"Thank  you.     Why?" 

"  'Cause  I  should  expect  you'd  give  me  somethin'  nether  and 
make  a  great  man  of  met " 

With  a  laugh  at  his  own  wit,  Mr.  Underhill  departed. 


CHAPTEK  III 


Bat  who  shail  so  forecast  the  years, 
And  find  in  loss  a  gain  to  match  ? 
Or  reach  a  hand  through  time  to  catch 

The  far-off  interest  of  tears? 

Tknnyson. 


The  day  came. 

The  farewell  dinner  was  got  ready — the  best  of  the  season  it 
must  be,  for  the  honour  of  all  parties  and  the  love  of  one ;  but  it 
mocked  them.  Mrs.  Landholm's  noble  roast  pig,  and  sweet 
chickens,  and  tea  and  fine  bread ;  they  were  something  to  be  re- 
membered, not  enjoyed,  and  to  be  remembered  for  ever,  as  part  of 
one  strong  drop  of  life's  bittersweet  mixture.  The  travellers,  for 
Mr.  Landholm  was  to  accompany  his  son,  had  already  dressed 
themselves  in  their  best;  and  the  other  eyes,  when  they  could, 
gazed  with  almost  wondering  pride  on  the  very  fine  and  graceful 
figure  of  the  young  seeker  of  fortune.  But  eyes  could  do  little,  and 
lips  worse  than  little.  The  pang  of  quitting  the  table,  and  the  hur- 
ried and  silent  good-byes,  were  over  at  last ;  and  the  wagon  was  gone. 

It  seemed  that  the  whole  household  was  gone.  The  little 
ones  had  run  to  some  corner  to  cry ;  Winthrop  was  nowhere ;  and 
the  mother  of  the  family  stood  alone  and  still  by  the  table  in  the 
kitchen  where  they  had  left  her. 

An  old  black  woman,  the  sole  house  servant  of  the  family, 
presently  came  in,  and  while  taking  up  two  or  three  of  the  plates, 
cast  looks  of  affectionate  pity  at  her  mistress  and  friend.  She 
had  been  crying  herself,  but  her  sorrow  had  taken  a  quiet 
form. 

"Don't  ye!"  she  said  in  a  troubled  voice,  and  laying  her 
shrivelled  hand  timidly  on  Mrs.  Landholm's  shoulder, — "  don't 
ye,  Mis'  Landholm.  He's  in  the  Lord's  hand, — and  just  you  let 
him  be  there." 


18  THE     HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Mrs.  Landholm  threw  her  apron  over  her  face  and  went  out 
of  the  kitchen  into  her  own  room.  The  old  woman  continued  to 
go  round  the  table,  gathering  the  plates,  but  very  evidently  busy 
with  something  else ;  and  indeed  humming  or  talking  to  herself, 
in  a  voice  far  from  steady. 

"  '  There  is  a  happy  land, 

Where  parting  is  unknown ' " 

She  broke  off  and  sat  down  and  put  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
wept. 

"  Oh  Lord ! — oh  good  Lord ! — I  wish  I  was  there ! — Be  still 
Karen — that's  very  wicked — wait,  wait.  '  They  shall  not  be 
ashamed  that  wait  for  him,'  he  said, — They  will  not  be  ashamed," 
she  repeated,  looking  up,  while  the  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks.  "  I  will  wait.  But  oh ! — I  wisht  I  had  patience !  I  want 
to  get  straight  out  of  trouble, — I  do.  Not  yet,  Karen, — not  yet. 
1  When  he  giveth  quietness,  then  who  can  make  trouble  ?  '  That's 
it — that's  my  way." 

She  went  about  her  business  and  quietly  finished  it. 

It  had  long  been  done,  and  the  afternoon  was  wearing  well  on, 
when  Mrs.  Landholm  came  into  the  kitchen  again.  Karen  had 
taken  care  of  the  children  meanwhile.  But  where  was  Winthrop  ? 
The  mother,  now  quite  herself,  bethought  her  of  him.  Karen 
knew  he  was  not  about  the  house.  But  Mrs.  Landholm  saw  that 
one  of  the  big  barn  doors  was  open,  and  crossed  over  to  it.  A 
small  field  lay  between  that  and  the  house.  The  great  barn  floor  was 
quite  empty,  as  she  entered,  except  of  hay  and  grain,  with  which 
the  sides  were  tightly  filled  up  to  the  top  ;  the  ends  were  neatly 
dressed  off;  the  floor  left  clean  and  bare.  It  oddly  and  strongly 
struck  her,  as  she  saw  it,  the  thought  of  the  hands  that  had  lately- 
been  so  busy  there ;  the  work  left,  the  hands  gone ;  and  for  a  few 
moments  she  stood  absolutely  still,  feeling  and  putting  away  the 
idea  that  made  her  heart  ache.  She  had  a  battle  to  fight  before 
she  was  mistress  of  herself  and  could  speak  Winthrop's  name. 
Nobody  answered;  and  scolding  herself  for  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  Mrs.  Landholm  spoke  again.  A  little  rustling  let  her 
know  that  she  was  heard;  and  presently  "Winthrop  made  his 
appearance  from  below  or  from  some  distant  corner  behind 
the  hay,  and  came  to  meet  her.  He  could  not  command  his  face 
to  his  mother's  eyes,  and  sorrow  for  Will  for  a  moment  was  half 
forgotten  in  sorrow  for  him.  As  they  met  she  put  both  hands 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  said  wistfully,  "My  son?" — But  that 
little  word  silenced  them  both.     It  was  only  to  throw  their  arms 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  19 

about  each  other  and  hide  their  faces  in  each  other's  neck,  and  cry 
strange  tears ;  tears  that  are  drawn  from  the  heart's  deepest  well. 
Slight  griefs  flow  over  the  surface,  with  fury  perhaps ;  but  the 
purest  and  the  sweetest  waters  are  drawn  silently. 

Winthrop  was  the  first  to  recover  himself,  and  was  kissing  his 
mother  with  manly  quietness  before  she  could  raise  her  head  at 
all.  When  she  did,  it  was  to  return  his  kisses,  first  on  one  cheek 
and  then  on  the  other  and  then  on  his  forehead,  parting  the  hair 
from  it  with  both  hands  for  the  purpose.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
would  have  spoken,  but  she  did  not,  then,  not  in  words. 

"  My  boy,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  have  too  hard  measure  laid 
on  you ! " 

"  No,  mother — I  don't  think  it  so  ; — there  is  nothing  to  make 
me  sorry  in  that." 

"  Will  has  got  his  wish,1'  she  observed  presently. 

"  Don't  you  approve  of  it  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes —  "  she  said,  but  as  if  there  were  many  a  thought  before 
and  behind. 

"  DonH  you  approve  of  it  mother  ?  "  Winthrop  asked  quickly. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  do, — in  itself;  but  you  know  there  is  one  wish 
before  all  others  in  my  mind,  for  him  and  for  you,  Winthrop." 

He  said  nothing. 

"  Come,"  she  said  a  moment  after  more  cheerfully,  "  we  must 
go  in  and  see  how  cosy  and  sociable  we  can  make  ourselves  alone. 
We  must  practise," — for  next  winter,  she  was  going  to  say,  but 
something  warned  her  to  stop.  Winthrop  turned  away  his  face, 
though  he  answered  manfully, 

"  Yes  mother — I  must  just  go  over  to  the  bank  field  and  see 
what  Sam  Doolittle  has  been  at;  and  I've  got  to  cut  some  wood; 
then  I'll  be  in." 

"  Will  you  be  back  by  sundown  ?  " 

"  I'll  not  be  long  after." 

The  mother  gave  a  look  towards  the  sun,  already  very  neai 
the  high  western  horizon,  and  another  after  Winthrop  who  was 
moving  off  at  a  good  pace ;  and  then  slowly  walked  back  to  the 
house,  one  hand  clasping  its  fellow  in  significant  expression. 

Karen  was  sitting  in  her  clean  kitchen  with  little  Winifred  on 
her  knees,  and  singing  to  her  in  a  very  sweet  Methodist  tune, 

"  There  fairer  flowers  than  Eden's  hloom, 
Nor  sin  nor  sorrow  know. 
Blest  seats  ! — through  rude  and  stormy  seas, 
I  onward  press  to  you." 


2U  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    BHATEMUO. 

The  mother  stooped  to  take  up  the  child. 

"  What  put  that  into  your  head,  Karen  ?  " 

"  Everything  puts  it  in  my  head,  missus,"  said  the  old  woman 
with  a  smiling  look  at  her ;  "  sometimes  when  I  see  the  sun  go 
down,  I  think  by'm-by  I  won't  see  him  get  up  again ;  and  times 
when  I  lose  something,  I  think  by'm-by  I  won't  want  it ;  and 
sometimes  when  somebody  goes  away,  I  think  by'm-by  we'll  be 
all  gone,  and  then  we'll  be  all  together  again;  only  I'd  like  some- 
times to  be  all  together  without  going  first." 

u  Will  you  get  down,  Winnie  ?  "  said  her  mother,  "  and  lei 
mamma  make  a  cake  for  brother  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  A  cake  ? — for  Governor  ?  n 

"  Yes  7  get  down,  and  I'll  make  one  of  Governor's  hoe-cakes.' * 

The  spirit  of  love  and  cheerfulness  had  got  the  upper  hand 
when  the  little  family  party  gathered  again ;  at  least  that  spirit 
had  rule  of  all  that  either  eyes  or  ears  could  take  note  of.  They 
gathered  in  the  l  keeping-room,'  as  it  was  called  ;  the  room  used  as 
a  common  sitting  room  by  the  family,  though  it  served  also  the 
purpose  of  a  sleeping  chamber,  and  a  bed  accordingly  in  one  cor- 
ner formed  part  of  the  furniture.  Their  eyes  were  accustomed  to 
that.  It  did  not  hurt  the  general  effect  of  comfort.  Thero 
the  supper-table  was  set  this  evening ;  the  paper  window-curtains 
were  let  down,  and  a  blazing  fire  sparkled  and  crackled ;  while  be- 
fore it,  on  the  approved  oaken  barrel-head  set  up  against  the  and- 
irons, the  delicate  rye  and  indian  hoe-cake  was  toasting  into 
sweetness  and  brownness.  Asahel  keeping  watch  on  one  side  of  the 
fire,  and  Winifred  at  the  other  burning  her  little  fair  cheek  in  pre- 
mature endeavours  to  see  whether  the  cake  was  ready  to  be  turned. 

"  What's  going  on  here  !  "  said  Winthrop,  catching  her  up  in 
his  arms  as  he  came  in. 

Winifred  laughed  and  kissed  him,  and  then  with  an  earnest 
slap  of  her  little  hand  on  InVcheek  requested  to  be  set  down,  that 
she  might  see,  "  if  that  side  wasn't  done." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  it's  done,"  said  Asahel.  "Where's  mamma 
to  turn  it  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  Winthrop,  taking  up  the  barrel  co^tir, — "  do 
you  think  nobody  can  turn  a  cake  but  mamma  ?  " 

"  You  can't,"  said  Asahel, — "  you'll  let  it  fall  in  the  ashes, — 
you  will ! — " 

But  the  slice  of  half  baked  dough  was  cleverly  and  neatly 
slipped  off  the  board  and  happily  put  in  its  place  again  with  the 
right  side  out ;  and  little  Winifred,  who  had  watched  the  opera- 
tion anxiously,  said  with  a  breath  of  satisfaction  and  in  her  slow 
utterance, 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  21 

"  There — Governor  can  do  anything ! " 

There  were  several  cakes  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  fire,  one 
after  the  other,  and  then  to  he  split  and  butj^red,  and  then  to  be 
eaten ;  and  cakes  of  Winthrop's  baking  and  mamma's  buttering,  the 
children  pronounced  u  as  good  as  could  be."  Nothing  could  have 
better  broken  up  the  gloom  of  their  little  tea  party  than  Win- 
throp's hoe-cakes ;  and  then  the  tea  was  so  good,  for  nobody  had 
eaten  much  dinner.    ^ 

The  children  were  in  excellent  spirits,  and  Winthrop  kept 
them  in  play ;  and  the  conversation  went  on  between  the  three 
for  a  large  part  of  the  evening.  When  the  little  ones  were  gone 
to  bed,  then  indeed  it  flagged;  Winthrop  and  his  mother  sat 
awhile  silently  musing,  and  then  the  former  bade  her  good  night. 

It  was  long  before  Mrs.  Landholm  thought  of  going  to  bed, 
or  thought  of  anything  around  her ;  the  fire  was  dead  and  her 
candle  burnt  out,  when  at  length  she  roused  herself.  The  cold 
wind  made  itself  felt  through  many  a  crevice  in  the  wooden  frame 
house ;  and  feeling  too  much  of  its  work  upon  her,  she  went  into 
the  kitchen  to  see  if  there  were  not  some  warmth  still  lingering 
about  the  covered-up  fire.  To  her  surprise,  the  fire  was  not  cov- 
ered up ;  a  glow  came  from  it  yet ;  and  Winthrop  sat  there  on 
the  hearth,  with  his  head  leaning  against  the  jamb  and  his  eves 
intently  studying  the  coals.     He  started,  and  jumped  up. 

"  Winthrop  ! — what  are  you  here  for,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  came  out  to  warm  myself." 

M  Haven't  you  been  to  bed  ? 

**  No  ma'am." 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

w  Only  in  my  room,  mother." 

'  Doing  what,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Thinking — "  he  said  a  little  unwillingly. 

"Sit  down  and  warm  yourself,"  said  his  mother  placing  his 
chair  again  ;< — "  Why,  your  hands  are  warm  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am — I  have  been  here  a  good  while." 

He  sat  down,  where  she  had  put  his  chair  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place ;  and  she  stood  warming  herself  before  it,  and  looking  at 
him.  His  face  was  in  its  usual  calmness,  and  she  thought  as  she 
looked  it  was  an  excellent  face.  Great  strength  of  character — 
great  truth — beneath  the  broad  brow  high  intellectual  capacity,  and 
about  the  mouth  a  certain  sweet  self-possession ;  to  the  ordinary 
observer  more  cool  than  sweet,  but  his  mother  knew  the  sweetness. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Winthrop  ?  "  she  said  softly, 
bending  down  near  enough  to  lay  a  loving  baud  on  his  brow. 


22  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  smiled,  one  of  those  smiles  which 
his  mother  saw  oftener  than  anybody,  but  she  not  often, — a  smile 
very  revealing  in  its,  character, — and  said, 

"  Don't  ask  me,  mamma." 

"  Who  should  ask  you,  if  not  I  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  trouble  you  with  it,  mother." 

"  You  can't  help  that — it  will  trouble  me  now,  whether  I 
know  it  or  not ;  for  I  see  it  is  something  that  troubles  you." 

"  You  have  too  good  eyes,  mother,"  he  said  smiling  again,  but 
a  different  smile. 

"  My  ears  are  just  as  good." 

"  Mamma,  I  don't  want  to  displease  you,"  he  said  looking  up. 

"  You  can't  do  that — you  never  did  yet,  Winthrop,  my  boy," 
she  answered,  bending  down  again  and  this  time  her  lips  to  his 
forehead.    "  Speak — I  am  not  afraid." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  mastering  himself  as  it 
were  with  some  difficulty,  he  said, 

"  Mamma,  I  want  to  be  somebody !  " 

The  colour  flushed  back  and  forth  on  his  face,  once  and  again, 
but  beyond  that,  every  feature  kept  its  usual  calm. 

A  shadow  fell  on  his  mother's  face,  and  for  several  minutes 
she  stood  and  he  sat  in  perfect  silence ;  he  not  stirring  his  eyes 
from  the  fire,  she  not  moving  hers  from  him.  When  she  spoke, 
the  tone  was  changed,  and  though  quiet  he  felt  the  trouble  in  it. 

H  What  sort  of  a  somebody,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Mamma,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  live  here  !  I  want  to  know  more 
and  to  be  more  than  I  can  here.  I  can,  I  am  sure,  if  I  only  can 
find  a  way ;  and  I  am  sure  I  can  find  a  way.  It  is  in  me,  and  it 
will  come  out.  I  don't  want  anybody  to  give  me  any  help,  nor 
to  bhink  of  me ;  I  can  work  my  own  way,  if  you'll  only  let  me 
and  not  be  troubled  about  me." 

He  had  risen  from  his  chair  to  speak  this.  His  mother  kept 
her  face  in  the  shadow  and  said  quietly, 

"  What  way  will  you  take,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,  yet ;  I  haven't  found  out." 

"  Do  you  know  the  difficulties  in  the  way  ?  " 

"  No,  mother." 

It  was  said  in  the  tone  not  of  proud  but  of  humble  deter- 
mination. 

"  My  boy,  they  are  greater  than  you  think  for,  or  than  I  like 
to  think  of  at  all." 

"  I  dare  say,  mother." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  is  possible  for  your  father  to  do  moro  than 
put  Will  in  the  way  he  has  chosen." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  23 

"I  know  that,  mother,"  Winthrop  replied,  with  again  the 
calm  face  but  the  flushing  colour; — "he  said  yesterday — I  heard 
him—" 

"What?" 

"  He  said  he  would  try  to  make  a  man  of  Rufus!  I  must  do 
it  for  myself,  mother.     And  I  will." 

His  mother  hardly  doubted  it.  But  she  sighed  as  she  looked, 
and  sighed  heavily. 

"I   ought  to  have  made   you  promise  not  to  be  troubled, 
mamma,"  he  said  with  a  relaxing  face.    * 

"  I  am  more  careful  of  my  promises  than  that,"  she  answered. 
"  But  Winthrop,  my  boy,  what  do  you  want  to  do  first  ?  " 

"  To  learn,  mamma  ! "  he  said,  with  a  singular  flash  of  fire  in 
his  usual  cool  eye.  "  To  get  rid  of  ignorance,  and  then  to  get 
the  power  that  knowledge  gives.  Rufus  said  the  other  day  that 
knowledge  is  power,  and  I  know  he  was  right.  I  feel  like  a  man 
with  his  hands  tied,  because  I  am  so  ignorant." 

"  You  are  hardly  a  man  yet,  Winthrop  ;  you  are  only  a  bov 
in  years." 

u  I  am  almost  sixteen,  mother,  and  I  haven't  taken  the  first 
stop  yet." 

What  should  the  first  step  be?  A  question  in  the  minds  of 
both ;  the  answer — a  blank. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  thinking  of  this  ?  " 

"  Since  last  spring,  mother." 

"Didn't  Will's  going  put  it  in  your  head  ?  " 

"That  gave  me  the  first  thought;  but  it  would  have  made  no 
difference,  mother ;  it  would  have  come,  sooner  or  later.  I  know 
it  would,  by  my  feeling  ever  since." 

Mrs.  Landholm's  eye  wandered  round  the  room,  the  very 
walls  in  their  humbleness  and  roughness  reminding  her  anew  of 
the  labour  and  self-denial  it  had  cost  to  rear  them,  and  then  to 
furnish  them,  and  that  was  now  expended  in  keeping  the  inside 
warm.  Every  brown  beam  and  little  window-sash  could  witness 
the  story  of  privation  and  struggle,  if  she  would  let  her  mind  go 
back  to  it ;  the  associations  were  on  every  hand ;  neither  was  the 
struggle  over.  She  turned  her  back  upon  the  room,  and  sitting 
down  in  Winthrop's  chair  bent  her  look  as  he  had  done  into  the 
decaying  bed  of  coals. 

He  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  mantelpiece,  and  look 
ing  down  in  his  turn  scanned  her  face  and  countenance  as  a  little 
while  before  she  had  scanned  his.  Hers  was  a  fine  face,  in  some 
of  the  finest  indications.     It  had  not,  probably  it  never  had,  the 


24  THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

extreme  physical  beauty  of  her  first-born,  nor  the  mark  of  intel- 
lect that  was  upon  the  features  of  the  second.  But  there  was 
the  unmistakable  writing  of  calm  good  sense,  a  patient  and  pos- 
sessed mind,  a  strong  power  for  the  right,  whether  doing  or  suffer- 
ing, a  pure  spirit;  and  that  nameless  beauty,  earthly  and  un- 
earthly, which  looks  out  of  the  eyes  of  a  mother ;  a  beauty  like 
which  there  is  none.  But  more ;  toil's  work,  and  care's,  were 
there,  very  plain,  on  the  figure  and  on  the  face,  and  on  the  coun- 
tenance too ;  he  could  not  overlook  it ;  work  that  years  had  not 
had  time  to  do,  nor  sorrow  permission.     His  heart  smote  him. 

"  Mamma,"  he  said,  u  you  have  left  out  the  hardest  difficulty 
of  all. — How  can  I  go  and  leave  you  and  papa  without  me  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  ?  My  child,  I  can  bear  to  do  without  you  in  this 
world,  if  it  is  to  be  for  your  good  or  happiness.  There  is  only 
one  thing,  Winthrop,  I  cannot  bear." 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  could  bear  anything — it  would  make  my  life  a  garden  of 
roses — if  I  were  sure  of  having  you  with  me  in  the  next  world." 

"  Mamma — you  know  I  would " 

"  I  know  you  would,  I  believe,  give  your  life  to  serve  me,  my 
boy.  But  till  you  love  God  as  well  as  that, — you  may  be  my 
child,  but  you  are  not  his." 

He  was  silent  still ;  and  heaving  a  sigh,  a  weary  one,  that 
came  from  very  far  down  in  her  heart,  she  turned  away  again 
and  sat  looking  towards  the  fireplace.  But  not  at  it,  nor  at  any- 
thing else  that  mortal  eyes  could  see.  It  was  a  look  that  left 
the  things  around  her,  and  passing  present  wants  and  future  con- 
tingencies, went  beyond,  to  the  issues,  and  to  the  secret  springs 
that  move  them.  An  earnest  and  painful  look ;  a  look  of  patient 
care  and  meek  reliance ;  so  earnest,  so  intent,  so  distant  in  its 
gaze,  that  told  well  it  was  a  path  the  mind  often  travelled  and 
often  in  such  wise,  and  with  the  self-same  burden.  Winthrop 
watched  the  gentle  grave  face,  so  very  grave  then  in  its  gentle- 
ness, until  he  could  not  bear  it ;  her  cheek  was  growing  pale,  and 
whether  with  cold  or  with  thinking  he  did  not  care  to  know. 

He  came  forward  and  gently  touched  his  cheek  to  the  pale 
one. 

"  Mamma,  do  not  look  so  for  me  !  "  he  whispered. 

She  pulled  him  down  beside  her  on  the  hearth,  and  nestled 
her  face  on  his  shoulder  and  wrapped  her  arms  round  him.  And 
they  strained  him  close,  but  he  could  not  speak  to  her  then. 

"  For  whom  should  I  look  ?  or  for  what  do  I  live  ?  My  boy ! 
I  would  die  to  know  that  you  loved  Christ; — that  my  dear 
Master  was  yours  too  !  " 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  25 

The  gently-spoken  words  tied  his  tongue.  He  was  mute; 
till  she  had  unloosed  her  arms  from  about  him  and  sat  with  her 
face  in  her  hands.     Then  his  head  sought  her  shoulder 

"  Mamma,  I  know  you  are  right.  I  will  do  anything  to  please 
you — anything  that  I  can,"  he  said  with  a  great  force  upon  him- 
self. 

"  What  can  you  do,  Winthrop  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  again,  and  she  looked  up  and  looked  into 
his  face. 

"  Can  you  take  G-od  for  your  God  ?  and  give  your  heart  and 
your  life, — all  the  knowledge  you  will  ever  get  and  all  the  power 
it  will  ever  give  you, — to  be  used  for  him  ?  " 

"  For  him,  mamma  ? — " 

"In  doing  his  work — in  doing  his  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Mamma — I  am  not  a  Christian,"  he  said  hesitatingly  and  . 
his  eye  falling. 

"  And  now  you  know  what  a  Christian  is.  Till  you  can  do 
this,  you  do  nothing.  Till  you  are  Christ's  after  this  whole- 
hearted fashion  you  are  not  mine  as  I  wish  to  see  you, — you  are 
not  mine  for  ever, — my  boy — my  dear  Winthrop — "  she  said, 
again  putting  her  arm  round  him  and  bowing  her  face  to  his  breast. 

Did  he  ever  forget  the  moment  her  head  Ly  there  ?  the  mo- 
ment when  his  arms  held  the  dearest  earthly  thing  life  ever  had 
for  him  ?  It  was  a  quiet  moment ;  she  was  not  crying ;  no  tears 
had  been  dropped  at  all  throughout  their  conversation;  and 
when  she  raised  her  face  it  was  to  kiss  him  quietly, — but  twice, 
on  his  lips  and  on  his  cheek, — and  bid  him  good  night.  But  his 
soul  was  full  of  one  meaning,  as  he  shut  his  little  bedroom  door, 
— that  that  face  should  never  be  paler  or  more  care-worn  for 
anything  of  his  doing ; — that  he  would  give  up  anything,  he  would 
never  go  from  home  sooner  than  grieve  her  heart  in  a  feather's 
weight;  nay,  that  rather  than  grieve  her,  he  would  become  a 
Christian. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

A  lonely  dwelling,  where  the  shore 

Is  shadowed  with  rocks,  and  cypresses 

Cleave  with  their  dark  green  cones  the  silent  skies, 

And  with  their  shadows  the  clear  depths  below. 

Shelley. 

The  winter  was  a  long  one  to  the  separated  family.  Quietly 
won  through,  and  busily.  The  father  in  the  distant  legislature ;  the 
brother  away  at  his  studies ;  and  the  two  or  three  lonely  people  at 
home; — each  in  his  place  was  earnestly  and  constantly  at  work. 
No  doubt  Mr.  Landholm  had  more  time  to  play  than  the  rest  of 
them,  and  his  business  cares  did  not  press  quite  so  heavily ;  for  he 
wrote  home  of  gay  dinings-out,  and  familiar  intercourse  with  this 
and  that  member  of  the  Senate  and  Assembly,  and  hospitable 
houses  that  were  open  to  him  in  Yantassel,  where  he  had  pleasant 
friends  and  pleasant  times.  But  the  home  cares  were  upon  him 
even  then ;  he  told  how  he  longed  for  the  Session  to  be  over,  that 
he  might  be  with  his  family ;  he  sent  dear  love  to  little  Winifred 
and  Asahel,  and  postscripts  of  fatherly  charges  to  Winthrop, 
recommending  to  him  particularly  the  care  of  the  young  cattle 
and  to  go  on  dressing  the  flax.  And  Winthrop,  through  the  long 
winter,  had  taken  care  of  the  cattle  and  dressed  the  flax  in  the 
same  spirit  with  which  he  shut  his  bedroom  door  that  night ;  a 
little  calmer,  not  a  whit  the  less  strong. 

He  filled  father's  and  brother's  place — his  mother  knew  how 
well.  Sam  Doolittle  knew,  for  he  declared  "  there  wa'n't  a  stake 
in  the  fences  that  wa'n't  looked  after,  as  smart  as  if  the  old  chap 
was  to  hum."  The  grain  was  threshed  as  duly  as  ever,  though  a 
boy  of  sixteen  had  to  stand  in  the  shoes  of  a  man  of  forty.  Per- 
haps Sam  and  Anderese  wrought  better  than  their  wont,  in 
shame  or  in  admiration.  Karen  never  had  so  good  a  woodpile,  Mrs. 
Landholm's  meal  bags  were  never  better  looked  after ;  and  littlo 


THE    HILLS    OF    TOE    SHATEMTJC.  27 

Winifred  and  Asahel  never  wanted  their  rides  in  the  snow,  nor 
had  more  nuts  cracked  o'  nights ;  though  they  had  only  one  tired 
brother  at  home  instead  of  two  fresh  ones.  Truth  to  tell,  how- 
ever, one  ride  from  Winthrop  would  at  any  time  content  them 
better  than  two  rides  from  Will.  Winthrop  never  allowed  that  he 
was  tired,  and  never  seemed  so;  but  his  mother  and  Karen  were 
resolved  that  tired  he  must  be. 

"  He  had  pretty  strength  to  begin  with,"  Karen  said;  "that 
was  a  good  thing ;  and  he  seemed  to  keep  it  up  too ;  he  was 
shootin'  over  everything." 

If  Winthrop  kept  his  old  plans  of  self-aggrandizement,  it  was 
at  the  bottom  of  his  heart ;  he  looked  and  acted  nothing  but  the 
farmer,  all  those  months.  There  was  a  little  visit  from  E-ufus 
too,  at  mid-winter,  which  must  have  wakened  the  spirit  of  other 
things,  if  it  had  been  at  all  laid  to  sleep.  But  if  it  waked  it  kept 
still.     It  did  not  so  much  as  shew  itself.     Unless  indirectly. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  to-day,  Governor  ?  "  said  his 
little  sister,  meeting  him  with  joyful  arms  as  he  came  in  one  dark 
February  evening. 

"  What  have  you  been  about  all  day  ? "  said  her  brother,  tak- 
ing her  up  to  his  shoulder.  "  Cold,  isn't  it  ?  Have  you  got  some 
supper  for  me?" 

"  No,  /  hav'n't, — "  said  the  little  girl.  "  Mamma  ! — Governor 
wants  his  supper  ! " 

"  Hush,  hush.     Governor's  not  in  a  hurry." 

"Where  have  you  been  all  day?"  she  repeated,  putting  her 
little  hand  upon  his  cold  face  with  a  sort  of  tender  considera- 
tion. 

"  In  the  snow,  and  out  of  it." 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  the  snow  ?  " 

"Walking." 

"Was  it  cold?" 

"  Stinging." 

"  What  was  stinging?" 

"Why,  the  cold!" 

She  laughed  a  little,  and  went  on  stroking  his  face. 

"  What  were  you  doing  when  you  wa'n't  in  the  snow  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  !  " 

"  I  was  scutching  flax." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ? — didn't  you  see  me  beating  flax  in 
the  barn  the  other  day  ? — beating  it  upon  a  board,  with  a  bat  ? — 
that  was  scutching." 


28  THE    HILLS     OB     THE    SHATEKTTC. 

"  That  day  when  mamma  said, — mamma  said,  you  were  work- 
ing too  hard  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  likely." 

"  I  thought  we  were  done  dressing  flax  ? "  remarked  Asa- 
hel. 

"  We  ! — well,  I  suppose  you  have,  for  this  season." 

"  "Well,  ain't  you  done  dressing  flax  ?  " 

"No  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  said  the  flax  was  all  done,  Winthrop  ?  "  said 
his  mother. 

"  My  father's  is  all  done,  ma'am." 

"  And  yet  you  have  been  dressing  flax  to-day  ? '  said  Asahel ; 
while  his  mother  looked. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Winthrop,  "  I  wish  Asahel  was  a  little  older. — 
He  would  be  a  help." 

11  Who  have  you  been  working  for  ?  "  said  the  3t  jLld. 

"  For  myself." 

u  Where  have  you  been,  Winthrop  ?  "  said  his  mother  in  a. 
Dwer  tone  of  inquiry. 

"  I  have  been  over  the  mountain,  mamma, — to  Mr.  Upshur's." 

"Dressing  flax?" 

"  Yes  ma'am." 

"  And  you  have  come  over  the  mountain  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

She  stooped  in  silence  to  the  fire  to  take  up  her  tea-pot ;  but 
Asahel  exclaimed, 

"  It  ain't  right,  mamma,  is  it,  for  Winthrop  to  be  dressing  flax 
for  anybody  else  ?*' 

"  What's  the  wrong  ?     said  his  brother. 

"  Is  it,  mamma  ?  " 

But  mamma  was  silent. 

"  What's  the  wrong  ?  "  repeated  Winthrop. 

"  Because  you  ought  to  be  doing  your  own  business." 

"  Never  did,  if  I  didn't  to-day,"  Winthrop  remarked  as  he 
came  to  the  table. 

"  For  shame  Asahel !  "  put  in  little  Winifred  with  her  child- 
ish voice ; —  "you  don't  know.     Governor  always  is  right." 

It  was  a  very  cold  February,  and  it  was  a  very  bleak  walk 
over  the  mountain ;  but  Winthrop  took  it  many  a  time.  His 
mother  now  and  then  said  when  she  saw  him  come  in  or  go  out, 
"  Don't  overtry  yourself,  my  son  ! — "  but  he  answered  her  always 
with  his  usual  composure,  or  with  one  of  those  deep  breaking-up 
looks  which  acknowledged  only  her  care — not  the  need  for  it. 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  29 

As  Karen  said,  "he  had  a  pretty  strength  to  begin  with;"  and 
it  was  so  well  begun  that  all  the  exposure  and  hardship  served 
rather  to  its  development  and  maturing. 

The  snow  melted  from  off  the  hills,  and  the  winter  blasts 
came  more  fitfully,  and  were  changed  for  soft  south  airs  between 
times.  There  was  an  end  to  dressing  flax.  The  spring  work  was 
opening ;  and  Winthrop  had  enough  to  do  withoul  working  on  his 
own  score.  Then  Mr.  Landholm  came  home;  and  the  energies  of 
both  the  one  and  the  other  were  fully  taxed,  at  the  plough  and 
the  harrow,  in  the  barnyard  and  in  the  forest,  where  in  all  the 
want  of  Rufus  made  a  great  gap.  Mrs.  Landholm  had  more 
reason  now  to  distress  herself,  and  distressed  herself  accordingly, 
but  it  was  of  no  use.  Winthrop  wrought  early  and  late,  and 
threw  himself  into  the  gap  with  a  desperate  ardour  that  meant — 
his  mother  knew  what. 

They  all  wrought  cheerfully  and  with  good  heart,  for  they 
were  together  again;  and  the  missing  one  was  only  thought  of 
as  a  stimulus  to  exertion,  or  its  reward.  Letters  came  from  Ru» 
fus,  which  were  read  and  read,  and  though  not  much  talked  about, 
secretly  served  the  whole  family  for  dessert  at  their  dinner  and 
for  sweetmeats  to  their  tea.  Letters  which  shewed  that  the  fa- 
ther's end  was  gaining,  that  the  son's  purpose  was  accomplishing ; 
Rufus  would  be  a  man  !  They  were  not  very  frequent,  for  they 
avoided  the  post-office  to  save  expense,  and  came  by  a  chance 
hand  now  and  then ; — "  Favoured  by  Mr.  Upshur," —  or,  "  By 
Uncle  Absalom."  They  were  written  on  great  uncouth  sheets  of 
letter-paper,  yellow  and  coarse ;  but  the  handwriting  grew  bold 
and  firm,  and  the  words  and  the  thoughts  were  changing  faster 
yet,  from  the  rude  and  narrow  mind  of  the  boy,  to  the  polish  and 
the  spread  of  knowledge.  Perhaps  the  letters  might  be  boyish 
yet,  in  another  contrast ;  but  the  home  circle  could  not  see  it;  and  if 
they  could,  certainly  the  engage  already  made  was  so  swift  as  shewed 
a  great  readiness  for  more.  Mr.  Landholm  said  little  about  these 
letters ;  read  them  sometimes  to  Mr.  Upshur,  read  them  many 
times  to  himself;  and  for  his  family,  his  face  at  those  times  was 
comment  enough. 

"  Well ! — "  he  said  one  day,  as  he  folded  up  one  of  the  uncouth 
great  sheets  and  laid  it  on  the  table, — "  the  man  that  could  write 
that,  was  never  made  to  hoe  corn — that's  certain." 

Winthrop  heard  it. 

At  midsummer  Rufus  came  home  for  a  little.  He  brought 
news.  He  had  got  into  the  good  graces  of  an  uncle,  a  brother 
of  his  father's,  who  lived  at  Little  River,  a  town  in  the  interior, 


30  THE    HILLS     OF     THE    SHATEMUC. 

forty  miles  off.  This  gentleman,  himself  a  farmer  extremely 
well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  with  a  small  family,  had  invited 
Rufus  to  come  to  his  house  and  carry  on  his  studies  there.  Th6 
invitation  was  pressed,  and  accepted,  as  it  would  be  the  means  of 
a  great  saving  of  outlay ;  and  Rufus  came  home  in  the  interval 
to  see  them  all,  and  refit  himself  for  the  winter  campaign. 

No  doubt  he  was  changed  and  improved,  like  his  letters ;  and 
fond  eyes  said  that  fond  hopes  had  not  been  mistaken.  If  they 
looked  on  him  once  with  pride,  they  did  now  with  a  sort  of  insensi- 
ble wonder.  His  whole  air  was  that  of  a  different  nature,  not  at  all 
from  affectation,  but  by  the  necessity  of  the  case ;  and  as  noble  and 
graceful  as  nature  intended  him  to  be,  they  delightedly  confessed 
that  he  was.  Perhaps  by  the  same  necessity,  Ms  view  of  things 
was  altered  a  little,  as  their  view  of  him ;  a  little  unconscious 
change,  it  might  be ;  that  nobody  quarrelled  with  except  the  chil- 
dren; but  certain  it  is  that  Winifred  did  not  draw  up  to  him, 
and  Asahel  stood  in  great  doubt. 

"  Mamma,"  said  he  one  day,  "  I  wish  Rufus  would  pull  off 
his  fine  clothes  and  help  Winthrop." 

"  Fine  clothes,  my  dear  !  "  said  his  mother ;  "  I  don't  think 
your  brother's  clothes  are  very  fine ;  I  wish  they  were  finer.  Do 
you  call  patches  fine  ?  " 

"  But  anyhow  they  are  better  than  Winthrop's  ?  " 

"  Certainly — when  Winthrop  is  at  his  work." 

"  Well,  the  other  day  he  said  they  were  too  good  for  him  to 
help  Winthrop  load  the  cart ;  and  I  think  he  should  pull  them 
off!" 

"  Did  Winthrop  ask  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  he  knew  he  was  going  to  do  it." 

"  Rufus  must  take  care  of  his  clothes,  or  he  wouldn't  be  fit  to 
go  to  Little  River,  you  know. ' 

"  Then  he  ought  to  take  them  off,"  said  Asahel. 

"  He  did  cut  wood  with  Winthrop  all  yesterday." 

Asahel  sat  still  in  the  corner,  looking  uncomfortable. 

"  Where  are  they  now,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  as  Rufus  and  Winthrop 
opened  the  door. 

The  former  met  both  pair  of  eyes  directed  to  him,  and  instantly 
asked, 

"  What  are  you  talking  of  ?  " 

"  Asahel  don't  understand  why  you  are  not  more  of  a  farmer, 
when  you  are  in  a  farmhouse." 

"  Asahel  had  better  mind  his  own  business,"  was  the  some* 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  31 

what  sharp  retort ;  and  Rufus  pulled  a  lock  of  the  little  boy  s 
hair  in  a  manner  to  convey  a  very  decided  notion  of  his  judgment. 
Asahel,  resenting  this  handling,  or  touched  by  it,  slipped  off  his 
chair  and  took  himself  out  of  the  room. 

V  He  thinks  you  ought  to  take  off  your  fine  clothes  and  help 
Winthrop  more  than  you  do,"  said  his  mother,  going  on  with  a 
shirt  she  was  ironing. 

"Eine  clothes ! "  said  the  other  with  a  very  expressive  breath, 
— H I  shall  feel  fine  when  I  get  that  on,  mother.     Is  that  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Couldn't  Karen  do  that  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  as  she  put  down  her  iron  and  took 
a  hot  one.     The  tone  said,  "  Yes — but  not  well  enough." 

He  stood  watching  her  neat  work. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  mother,  when  I  look  at  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  don't  deserve  to  have  you  do  this  for  me.* 

She  looked  up  and  gave  him  one  of  her  grave  clear  glances,  and 
said, 

"  Will  you  deserve  it,  Will  ?  " 

He  stood  with  full  eyes  and  hushed  tongue  by  her  table,  for 
the  space  of  five  minutes.     Then  spoke  with  a  change  of  tone. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  down  to  help  Winthrop  catch  some  fish  for 
supper;  and  you  sha'n't  cook  'em,  mamma,  nor  Karen  neither. 
Karen's  cooking  is  not  perfection.  By  the  by,  there's  one  thing 
more  I  do  want, — and  confoundedly  too, — a  pair  of  boots; — I 
really  don't  know  how  to  do  without  them." 

"  Boots  ?  " — said  his  mother,  in  an  accent  that  sounded  a  little 
dismayful. 

«  Yes. — I  can  get  capital  ones  at  Asphodel — really  stylish 
ones — for  five  dollars ; — boots  that  would  last  me  handsome  a 
great  while ;  and  that's  a  third  less  than  I  should  have  to  give 
anywhere  else, — for  such  boots.  You  see  I  shall  want  them  at 
Little  River — I  shall  be  thrown  more  in  the  way  of  seeing  peo- 
ple— there's  a  great  deal  of  society  there.  I  don't  see  that  I  can 
get  along  without  them." 

His  mother  was  going  on  with  her  ironing. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  as  her  iron  made  passes  up  and  down, 
— "  I  don't  know  whether  you  can  have  them  or  not." 

"  I  know,"  said  Winthrop.  "  But  I  don't  see  the  sense  of 
getting  them  at  Asphodel." 

"  Because  I  tell  you  they  are  two  dollars  and  a  half  cheaper.' 


32  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO. 

u  And  how  much  more  will  it  cost  you  to  go  round  by  the  way 
of  Asphodel  than  to  go  straight  to  Little  River  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  half  careless,  half  displeased  ;— 
"  I  really  haven't  calculated." 

"  Well,  if  you  can  get  them  for  five  dollars,"  said  Winthrop, 
"  you  shall  have  them.     I  can  lend  you  so  much  as  that." 

"  How  did  you  come  by  it  ?  "  said  his  brother  looking  at  him 
curiously. 

"  I  didn't  come  by  it  at  all." 

"  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"  Made  it." 

"How?" 

11  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  I  beat  it  out  of  some  raw 
flax." 

"  And  carried  it  over  the  mountain,  through  the  snow,  winter 
nights, "  added  his  mother. 

"  You  didn't  know  you  were  doing  it  for  me,"  Rufus  said  laugh- 
ing as  he  took  the  money  his  brother  handed  him.  But  it  was  a 
laugh  assumed  to  hide  some  feeling.  "  Well,  it  shall  get  back  to 
you  again  somehow,  Winthrop.  Come — are  we  ready  for  this 
piscatory  excursion?  " 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  his  mother. 

"  A  Latin  word,  my  dear  mother,  which  I  lately  picked  up 
somewhere." 

"  Why  not  use  English  ?  "  said  his  mother. 

A  general  little  laugh,  to  which  many  an  unexpressed  thought 
and  feeling  went,  broke  up  the  conference ;  and  the  two  fishers 
set  forth  on  their  errand;  Rufus  carrying  the  basket  and  fishing- 
poles,  and  Winthrop's  shoulder  bearing  the  oars.  As  they  went 
down  in  front  of  the  house,  little  Winifred  ran  out. 

"  Governor,  mayn't  I  go  ?  " 

"  No !  "  said  Rufus. 

"  We  are  going  to  Point  Bluff,  Winnie,"  said  Winthrop  stop- 
ping to  kiss  her, — "  and  I  am  afraid  you  would  roll  off  on  one 
side  while  I  was  pulling  up  a  fish  on  the  other." 

She  stood  still,  and  looked  after  her  two  brothers  as  they  went 
down  to  the  water. 

The  house  stood  in  a  tiny  little  valley,  a  little  basin  in  the 
rocks,  girdled  about  on  all  sides  with  low  craggy  heights  covered 
with  evergreens.  On  all  sides  but  one.  To  the  south  the  view 
opened  full  upon  the  river,  a  sharp  angle  of  which  lay  there  in  a  nook 
like  a  mountain  lake ;  its  further  course  hid  behind  a  headland  of 
the  western  shore ;  and  only  the  bend  and  a  little  bit  before  the 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  33 

bend  could  be  seen  from  the  valley.  The  level  spot  about  the 
house  gave  perhaps  half  an  acre  of  good  garden  ground!;  from  the 
very  edge  of  that,  the  grey  rising  ledges  of  granite  and  rank 
greensward  between  held  their  undisputed  domain.  There  the 
wild  roses  planted  themselves ;  there  many  a  nourishing  sweet-briar 
flaunted  in  native  gracefulness,  or  climbed  up  and  hung  about  an 
old  cedar  as  if  like  a  wilful  child  determined  that  only  itself  should 
be  seen.  Nature  grew  them  and  nature  trained  them ;  and  sweet 
wreaths,  fluttering  in  the  wind,  gently  warned  the  passer-by  that 
nature  alone  had  to  do  there.  Cedars,  as  soon  as  the  bottom  land 
was  cleared,  stood  the  denizens  of  the  soil  on  every  side,  lifting 
their  soft  heads  into  the  sky.  Little  else  was  to  be  seen.  Here 
and  there,  a  little  further  off,  the  lighter  green  of  an  oak  shewed 
itself,  or  the  tufts  of  a  yellow  pine ;  but  near  at  hand  the  cedars 
held  the  ground,  thick  pyramids  or  cones  of  green,  from  the  very 
soil,  smooth  and  tapered  as  if  a  shears  had  been  there ;  but  only 
nature  had  managed  it.  They  hid  all  else  that  they  could ;  but 
the  grey  rocks  peeped  under,  and  peeped  through,  and  here  and 
there  broke  their  ranks  with  a  huge  wall  or  ledge  of  granite,  where 
no  tree  could  stand.  The  cedars  had  climbed  round  to  the  top 
and  went  on  again  above  the  ledge,  more  mingled  there  with  decid- 
uous trees,  and  losing  the  exceeding  beauty  of  their  supremacy  in 
the  valley.  In  the  valley  it  was  not  unshared ;  for  the  Virginia 
creeper  and  cat-briar  mounted  and  flung  their  arms  about  them, 
and  the  wild  grape-vines  took  wild  possession ;  and  in  the  day  of 
their  glory  they  challenged  the  bystander  to  admire  anything 
without  tkem.  But  the  day  of  their  glory  was  not  now ;  it  came 
when  Autumn  called  them  to  shew  themselves;  and  Autumn's 
messenger  was  far  off.  The  cedars  had  it,  and  the  roses,  and  the 
eglantine,  under  Summer's  rule. 

It  was  in  the  prime  of  summer  when  the  two  fishers  went 
down  to  their  boat.  The  valley  level  was  but  a  few  feet  above 
the  river ;  en  that  side,  with  a  more  scattering  growth  of  cedars, 
the  rocks  and  the  greensward  gently  let  themselves  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  water.  The  little  dory  was  moored  between  two  up- 
rising heads  of  granite  just  off  the  shore.  Stepping  from  rock  to 
rock  the  brothers  reached  her.  Kufus  placed  himself  in  the  stern 
with  the  fishing  tackle,  and  Winthrop  pushed  off. 

There  was  not  a  stir  in  the  air ;  there  was  not  a  ripple  on  the 
water,  except  those  which  the  oars  made,  and  the  long  widening 
mark  of  disturbance  the  little  boat  left  behind  it.  Still — still, — 
surely  it  was  Summer's  siesta ;  the  very  birds  were  still ;  but  it 
was  not  the  oppressive  rest  before  a  thunderstorm,  only  the  pleas* 
2# 


34  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

ant  hush  of  a  summer's  day.  The  very  air  seemed  blue — blue 
against  the  mountains,  and  kept  back  the  sun's  fierceness  with  its 
light  shield ;  and  even  the  eye  was  bid  to  rest,  the  distant  land- 
scape was  so  hidden  under  the  same  blue. 

No  distant  landscape  was  to  be  seen,  until  they  had  rowed  for 
several  minutes.  Winthrop  had  turned  to  the  north  and  was 
coasting  the  promontory  edge,  which  in  that  direction  stretched 
along  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It  stretched  west  as 
well  as  north,  and  the  river's  course  beyond  it  was  in  a  north- 
easterly line ;  so  that  keeping  close  under  the  shore  as  they  were, 
the  up  view  could  not  be  had  till  the  point  was  turned.  First 
they  passed  the  rock-bound  shore  which  fenced  in  the  home  val- 
ley ;  then  for  a  space  the  rocks  and  the  heights  fell  back  and 
several  acres  of  arable  ground  edged  the  river,  cut  in  two  by  a 
small  belt  of  woods.  These  acres  were  not  used  except  for 
grazing  cattle ;  the  first  field  was  occupied  with  a  grove  of  cylin- 
drical cedars ;  in  the  second  a  soft  growth  of  young  pines  sloped 
up  towards  the  height ;  the  ground  there  rising  fast  to  a  very 
bluff  and  precipitous  range  which  ended  the  promontory,  and 
pushed  the  river  boldly  into  a  curve,  as  abrupt  almost  as  the  one 
it  took  in  an  opposite  direction  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below.  Here 
the  shore  was  bold  and  beautiful.  The  sheer  rock  sprang  up  two 
hundred  feet  from  the  very  bosom  of  the  river,  a  smooth  perpen- 
dicular wall ;  sometimes  broken  with  a  fissure  and  an  out-jutting 
ledge,  in  other  parts  only  roughened  with  lichens ;  then  breaking 
away  into  a  more  irregular  and  wood-lined  shore ;  but  with  this 
variety  keeping  its  bold  front  to  the  river  for  many  an  oar's  length. 
Probably  as  bold  and  more  deep  below  the  surface,  for  in  this  place 
was  the  strength  of  the  channel.  The  down  tides  rushed  by  here 
furiously;  but  it  was  still  water  now,  and  the  little  boat  went 
smoothly  and  quietly  on,  the  sound  of  the  oars  echoing  back  in  sharp 
quick  return  from  the  rock.  It  was  all  that  was  heard ;  the  silence 
had  made  those  in  the  boat  silent ;  nothing  but  the  dip  of  the 
oars  and  that  quick  mockery  of  the  rowlocks  from  the  wall  said 
that  anything  was  moving. 

But  as  they  crept  thus  along  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  the 
other  shore  was  unfolding  itself.  One  huge  mountain  had  been 
all  along  in  sight,  over  against  them,  raising  its  towering  head 
straight  up  some  fourteen  hundred  feet  from  the  water's  edge ; 
green,  in  the  thick  luxuriance  of  summer's  clothing,  except  where 
here  and  there  a  blank  precipice  of  many  hundred  feet  shewed  the 
solid  stone.  Now  the  fellow  mountain,  close  beyond,  came  rap- 
idly in  view,  and,  as  the  point  of  the  promontory  was  gained,  the 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMTJO.  35 

whole  broad  north  scene  opened  upon  the  eye.  Two  hills  of  equal 
height  on  the  east  shore  looked  over  the  river  at  their  neighbours. 
Above  them,  on  both  shores,  the  land  fell,  and  at  the  distance  of 
about  eight  miles  curved  round  to  the  east  in  an  amphitheatre  of 
low  hills.  There  the  river  formed  a  sort  of  inland  sea,  and 
from  thence  swept  down  queen-like  between  its  royal  handmaids 
on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  till  it  reached  the  promontory 
point.  This  low  distant  shore  and  water  was  now  masked  with 
blue,  and  only  the  nearer  highlands  shewed  under  the  mask  their 
fine  outlines,  and  the  Shatemuc  its  smooth  face. 

At  the  point  of  the  promontory  the  rocky  wall  broke  down 
to  a  low  easy  shore,  which  stretched  off  easterly  in  a  straight  line 
for  half  a  mile,  to  the  bottom  of  what  was  called  the  north  bay. 
Just  beyond  the  point,  a  rounded  mass  of  granite  pushed  itself 
into  the  water  out  of  reach  of  the  trees  and  shewed  itself  summer 
and  winter  barefacedly.  This  rock  was  known  at  certain  states 
of  the  tide  to  be  in  the  way  of  the  white  mackerel.  Winthrop 
made  fast  his  little  skiff  between  it  and  the  shore,  and  climbing 
upon  the  rock,  he  and  Rufus  sat  down  and  fell  to  work ;  for  to 
play  they  had  not  come  hither,  but  to  catch  their  supper. 

The  spirit  of  silence  seemed  to  have  possessed  them  both,  for 
with  very  few  words  they  left  the  boat  and  took  their  places,  and 
with  no  words  at  all  for  some  time  the  hooks  were  baited  and  the 
lines  thrown.  Profound  stillness — and  then  the  flutter  of  a  poor 
little  fish  as  he  struggled  out  of  his  element,  or  the  stir  made  by 
one  of  tb  3  fishers  in  reaching  after  the  bait-basket — and  then  all 
was  still  again.  The  lines  drooped  motionless  in  the  water ;  the 
eyes  of  the  fishers  wandered  off  to  the  distant  blue,  and  then  came 
back  to  their  bobbing  corks,  Thinking,  both  the  young  men  un- 
doubtedly were,  for  it  could  not  have  been  the  mackerel  that  called 
such  grave  contemplation  into  their  faces. 

"  Itfs  confoundedly  hot !  "  said  Rufus  at  length  very  expres- 
sively. 

His  brother  seemed  amused. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  said  Rufus  a  little  sharply. 

"  Nothing — I  was  thinking  you  had  been  in  the  shade  lately. 
We've  got  'most  enough,  I  guess." 

"  Shade  ! — I  wish  there  was  such  a  thing.  This  is  a  pretty 
place  though,  if  it  wasn't  August, — and  if  one  was  doing  anything 
but  sitting  on  a  rock  fishing." 

"  Isn't  it  better  than  Asphodel  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Asphodel ! — When  are  you  going  to  get  away  from  here 
Winthrop?" 


OO  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Has  anything  "been  done  about  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  It  is  time,  Winthrop." 

Winthrop  was  silent. 

"  We  must  manage  it  somehow.  You  ought  not  to  be  fiehing 
here  any  looger.     I  want  you  to  get  on  the  way." 

"  Ay — I  must  wait  awhile,"  said  the  other  with  a  sigh.  "  I 
shall  go — that's  all  I  know,  but  I  can't  see  a  bit  ahead.  I'm 
round  there  under  the  point  now,  and  there's  a  big  headland  in 
the  way  that  hides  the  up  view." 

Again  the  eyes  of  the  fishers  were  fixed  on  their  corks,  gravely, 
and  in  the  case  of  Kufus  with  a  somewhat  disturbed  look. 

"  I  wish  I  was  clear  of  the  headlands  too,"  said  he  after  a 
short  silence ;  "  and  there's  one  standing  right  across  my  way 
now." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Books." 

11  Books  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

:t  Yes — books  which  I  haven't  got." 

"  Books  !  "  said  his  brother  in  astonishment. 

"Yes— why?" 

"  I  thought  you  said  boots,"  the  other  remarked  simply,  as  he 
disengaged  a  fish  from  the  hook. 

"Well,"  said  Eufus  sharply,  "what  then?  what  if  I  did? 
Can't  a  man  want  to  furnish  both  ends  of  his  house  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  a  man  in  his  sleep  getting  himself  turned 
about  with  his  head  in  the  place  of  his  feet.  I  thought  he  was 
dreaming.  ■ 

"  You  may  have  your  five  dollars  again,  if  you  think  them 
ill-bestowed,"  said  the  other  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket; — 
"  There  they  are  ! — I  don't  want  them — I  will  find  a  way  to  stand 
on  my  own  legs — with  boots  or  without,  as  the  case  may  be." 

"  I  don't  know  who  has  better  legs,"  said  Winthrop.  "  I  can't 
pity  you." 

"  But  seriously,  Winthrop,"  said  Rufus,  smiling  in  spite  of 
himself, — "  a  man  may  go  empty-headed,  but  he  cannot  go  bare- 
footed into  a  library,  nor  into  society." 

"  Did  you  go  mucn  into  society  at  Asphodel  ?  "  asked  Win- 
throp. 

"  Not  near  so  much  as  I  shall — and  that's  the  very  thing.  I 
can't  do  without  these  things,  you  see.  They  are  necessary  to  me. 
Even  at  Asphodel — but  that  was  nothing.     Asphodel  will  be  a 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  37 

very  good  place  for^you  to  go  to  in  the  first  instance.     You  won't 
find  yourself  a  stranger." 

"  Will  you  be  ready  for  college  next  year  ?  " 

"Hum — don't  know — it  depends.  I  am  not  anxious  about 
it — I  shall  be  all  the  better  prepared  if  I  wait  longer,  and  I 
should  like  to  have  you  with  me.  It  will  make  no  difference  in 
the  end,  for  I  can  enter  higher,  and  that  will  save  expense. 
Seriously  Winthrop,  you  must  get  away." 

u  I  must  catch  that  fish,"  said  Winthrop, — "  if  I  can — " 

"  You  won't—" 

"  I've  got  him." 

"  There's  one  place  at  Asphodel  where  IVe  been  a  good 
deal — Mr.  Haye's — he's  an  old  friend  of  my  .  ather  and  thinks 
a  world  of  him.  You'll  like  him — he's  been  very  kind  to 
me." 

"  What  shall  I  like  him  for — besides  that  ?  "  said  Winthrop 

"  0  he's  a  man  of  great  wealth,  and  has  a  beaut.ful  place  there, 
and  keeps  a  very  fine  house,  and  he's  very  hospitable.  He's  al- 
ways very  glad  to  see  me;  and  it's  rather  a  pleasant  change 
from  Glanbally's  vis-a-vis  and  underdone  apple-pies.  He  is  one 
of  the  rich,  rich  Mannahatta  merchants,  but  he  has  a  taste  for 
better  things  too.  Father  knows  him — they  met  some  years  ago 
in  the  Legislature,  and  father  has  done  him  some  service  or  other 
since.  He  has  no  family — except  one  or  two  children  not  grown 
up — his  wife  is  dead — so  I  suppose  he  was  glad  of  somebody  to 
help  him  eat  his  fine  dinners.  He  said  some  very  handsome 
things  to  encourage  me.  He  might  have  offered  me  the  use  of 
his  library — but  he  did  not." 

"  Perhaps  he  hasn't  one." 

"  Yes  he  has — a  good  one." 

"  It's  got  into  the  wrong  hands,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Wmthrop. 

"  He  has  a  little  the  character  of  being  hard-fisted.  At  least 
I  think  so.  He  has  a  rich  ward  that  he  is  bringing  up  with  his 
daughter, — a  niece  of  his  wife's — and  people  say  he  will  take 
his  commission  out  of  her  property ;  and  there  is  nobody  to  look 
after  it." 

"  Well  I  shan't  take  the  office,"  said  Winthrop,  getting  up 
"  If  the  thought  of  Mr.  Haye's  fine  dinner  hasn't  taken  away 
your  appetite,  suppose  we  get  home  and  see  how  these  mack- 
erel will  look  fried." 

"  It's  just  getting  pleasant  now,"  said  Rufus  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet.  "  There  might  be  a  worse  office  to  take,  for  she  will  have  a 
pretty  penny,  they  say." 


38  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"Do  you  think  of  it  yourself?  "  e 

"  There's  two  of  them,"  said  Rufus  smiling. 

"  Well,  you  take  one  and  I'll  take  the  other,"  said  Winthrop 
gravely.  "  That's  settled.  And  here  is  something  you  had  bet- 
ter put  in  your  pocket  as  we  go — it  may  be  useful  in  the  mean- 
while." 

He  quietly  gathered  up  the  five  dollars  from  the  rock  and 
slipped  them  into  the  pocket  of  Rufus's  jacket  as  he  spoke ;  then 
slipped  himself  off  the  rock,  took  the  fishing  tackle  and  baskets 
into  the  boat,  and  then  his  brother,  and  pushed  out  into  the  tide. 
There  was  a  strong  ebb,  and  they  ran  swiftly  down  past  rock  and 
mountain  and  valley,  all  in  a  cooler  and  fairer  beauty  than  a  few 
hours  before  when  they  had  gone  up.  Rufus  took  off  his  hat 
and  declared  there  was  no  place  like  home ;  and  Winthrop  some- 
times pulled  a  few  strong  strokes  and  then  rested  on  his  oars  and 
let  the  boat  drop  down  with  the  tide. 

"  Winthrop," — said  Rufus,  as  he  sat  paddling  his  hands  in  the 
water  over  the  side  of  the  boat, — "  you're  a  tremendous  fine  fel- 
low! " 

"  Thank  you. — I  wish  you'd  sit  a  little  more  in  the  middle." 

"  This  is  better  than  Asphodel  just  now,"  Rufus  remarked  as 
he  took  his  hands  out  and  straightened  himself. 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Glanbally?" 

"  Well  enough — he's  a  very  good  man — not  too  bright ;  but 
he's  a  very  good  man.  He  does  very  well.  I  must  get  you 
there,  Winthrop." 

Winthrop  shook  his  head  and  turned  the  conversation ;  and 
Rufus  in  fact  went  away  from  home  without  finding  a  due  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  on  the  matter.  But  perhaps  other  agency  was  at 
work. 

The  summer  was  passed,  and  the  fall  nearly ;  swallowed  up  in 
farm  duty  as  the  months  before  had  been.  The  cornstalks  were 
harvested  and  part  of  the  grain  threshed  out.  November  was  on 
its  way. 

i  Governor,"  said  his  father  one  night,  when  Winthrop  was 
playing  "  even  or  odd  "  with  Winifred  and  Asahel,  a  great  hand- 
ful of  chestnuts  being  the  game,  — "  Governor,  have  you  a 
mind  to  take  Rufus's  place  at  Asphodel  for  a  while  this  fall  ?  " 

The  blood  rushed  to  Winthrop's  face ;  but  he  only  forgot  his 
chestnuts  and  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  may  go,  if  you've  a  mind  to,  and  as  soon  as  you  like.— 
It's  better  travelling  now  than  it  will  be  by  and  by.  I  can  get 
along  without  you  for  a  spell,  I  guess." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  39 

"  Thank  you,  father." 

But  Winthrop's  eyes  sought  his  mother's  face.  In  vain  little 
Winifred  hammered  upon  his  hand  with  her  little  doubled  up  fist, 
and  repeated,  "  even  or  odd  ?  "  He  threw  down  the  chestnuts 
and  quitted  the  room  hastily. 


CHAPTEE V 


The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills, 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam 
Looked  on  the  fading  yellow  woods 

That  waved  o'er  Lugar's  winding  stream. 

Burns. 


The  five  dollars  were  gone.  No  matter — they  could  be  "wanted. 
They  must  be.  Winthrop  had  no  books  either.  What  had  he  ? 
A  wardrobe  large  enough  to  be  tied  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief ; 
his  father's  smile ;  his  mother's  tremulous  blessing ;  and  the  tears 
of  his  little  brother  and  sister. 

He  set  out  with  his  wardrobe  in  his  hand,  and  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket,  to  walk  to  Asphodel.  It  was  a  walk  of  thirteen  miles. 
The  afternoon  was  chill,  misty  and  lowering ;  November's  sad-colour 
in  the  sky,  and  Winter's  desolating  heralds  all  over  the  ground.  If 
the  sun  shone  anywhere,  there  was  no  sign  of  it ;  and  there  was 
no  sign  of  it  either  in  the  traveller's  heart.  If  fortune  had 
asked  him  to  play  "  eyen  or  odd,"  he  could  hardly  have  answered 
her. 

He  was  leaving  home.  They  did  not  know  it,  but  he  did. 
It  was  the  first  step  over  home's  threshold.  This  little  walk 
was  the  beginning  of  a  long  race,  of  which  as  yet  he  knew  only 
the  starting-point ;  and  for  love  of  that  starting-point  and  for 
straitness  of  heart  at  turning  his  back  upon  it,  he  could  have  sat 
down  under  the  fence  and  cried.  How  long  this  absence  from 
home  might  be,  he  did  not  know.  But  it  was  the  snapping  of 
the  tie, — that  he  knew.  He  was  setting  his  face  to  the  world ; 
and  the  world's  face  did  not  answer  him  very  cheerfully.  And 
that  poor  little  pocket-handkerchief  of  things,  which  his  mother's 
hands  had  tied  up,  he  hardly  dared  glance  at  it ;  it  said  so  piti- 
fully how  much  they  would,  how  little  they  had  the  power  to  do 
for  him ;  she  and  his  father ;  how  little  way  that  heart  of  love 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  41 

could  reach,  when  once  he  had  set  out  on  the  cold  journey  of  life 
He  had  set  out  now,  and  he  felt  alone, — alone ; — his  best  com- 
pany was  the  remembrance  of  that  whispered  blessing ;  and  that, 
he  knew,  would  abide  with  him.  If  the  heart  could  have  coined 
the  treasure  it  sent  back,  his  mother  would  have  been  poor  no 
more. 

He  did  not  sit  down,  nor  stop,  nor  shed  a  tear.  It  would 
have  gone  hard  with  him  if  he  had  been  obliged  to  speak  to  any- 
body ;  but  there  was  nobody  to  speak  to.  Few  were  abroad,  at 
that  late  season  and  unlovely  time.  Comfort  had  probably  re- 
treated to  the  barns  and'farmhouses — to  the  homesteads, — for  it 
was  a  desolate  road  that  he  travelled;  the  very  wagons  and 
horses  that  he  met  were  going  home,  or  would  be.  It  was  a  long 
road,  and  mile  after  mile  was  plodded  over,  and  evening  began  to 
say  there  was  nothing  so  dark  it  might  not  be  darker.  No  As- 
phodel yet. 

It  was  by  the  lights  that  he  saw  it  at  length  and  guessed  he 
was  near  the  end  of  his  journey.  It  took  some  plodding  then  to 
reach  it.  Then  a  few  inquiries  brought  him  where  he  might  see 
Mr.  Glanbally. 

It  was  a  corner  house,  flush  upon  the  road,  bare  as  a  poverty 
of  boards  could  make  it,  and  brown  with  the  weather.  In  the 
twilight  he  could  see  that.  Winthrop  thought  nothing  of  it ;  he 
was  used  to  it ;  his  own  house  at  home  was  brown  and  bare ;  but 
alas  1  this  looked  very  little  like  his  own  house  at  home.  There 
wasn't  penthouse  enough  to  keep  the  rain  from  the  knocker.     He 

"  Is  Mr.  Glanbally  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  'spect  he  is — he  come  in  from  school  half  an  hour 
ago.     You  go  in  there,  and  I  guess  you'll  find  him." 

'  There,'  indicated  a  door  at  right  angles  with  the  front  and 
about  a  yard  behind  it.  The  woman  opened  the  door,  and  left 
Winthrop  to  shut  it  for  himself. 

In  a  bare  room,  at  a  bare  table,  by  an  ill-to-do  dip  candle, 
sat  Mr.  Glanbally  and  his  book.  The  book  on  the  table,  and 
Mr.  Glanbally's  face  on  the  book,  as  near  as  possible ;  and  both 
as  near  as  possible  under  the  candle.  Reason  enough  for  that 
when  the  very  blaze  of  a  candle  looked  so  little  like  giving  light. 
Was  that  why  Mr.  Glanbally's  eyes  almost  touched  the  letters  ? 
Winthrop  wondered  he  could  see  them  at  all ;  but  probably  he 
did,  for  he  did  not  look  up  to  see  anything  else.  He  had  taken 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  door  to  be  by  some  wonted  hand. 
Winthrop  stood  still  a  minute.      There  was  nothing  remarkable 


42  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

about  his  future  preceptor,  except  his  position.     He  was  a  little 
oldish  man — that  was  all. 

Winthrop  moved  a  step  or  two,  and  then  looking  hastily  up, 
the  little  man  pushed  the  candle  one  way  and  the  hook  another 
and  peered  at  his  visitor. 

"  Ah  ! — Do  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Glanbally. " 

"  That's  my  name,  sir, — that's  right." 

Winthrop  came  a  step  nearer  and  laid  a  letter  on  the  table. 
The  old  gentleman  took  it  up,  examined  the  outside,  and  then 
went  on  to  scan  what  was  within,  holding  the  lines  in  the  same 
fearful  proximity  to  his  face ;  so  near  indeed,  that  to  Winthrop's 
astonishment  when  he  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  page  he  made  no 
scruple  of  turning  over  the  leaf  with  his  nose.  The  letter  was 
folded,  and  then  Mr.  Glanbally  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Well  sir,  and  so  you  have  come  to  take  a  place  in  our  Acad- 
emy for  a  spell — I  am  glad  to  see  you — sit  down." 

Which  Winthrop  did;  and  Mr.  Glanbally  sat  looking  at  him, 
a  little  business-like,  a  little  curious,  a  little  benevolent. 

"  What  have  you  studied  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  sir, — of  anything." 

"  Your  father  says,  his  second  son What  was  the  name 

of  the  other  ?  " 

"  William,  sir." 

"William  what?" 

"  Landholm." 

"  William  Landholm — yes,  I  recollect — I  couldn't  make  out 
exactly  whether  it  was  Sandball  or  Lardner — Mr.  Landholm — 
Where  is  your  brother  now,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  is  at  Little  River,  sir,  going  on  with  his  studies." 

"He  made  very  good  progress — very  good  indeed — he's  a 
young  man  of  talent,  your  brother.  He's  a  smart  fellow.  He's 
going  on  to  fit  himself  to  enter  college,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  He'll  do  well — he  can  do  what  he's  a  mind.  Well,  Mr. 
Landholm — what  are  you  going  to  turn  your  hand  to  ?  " 

"  I  have  hardly  determined,  sir,  yet." 

"  You'll  see  your  brother — something,  I  don't  know  what,  one 
of  these  days,  and  you'll  always  be  his  brother,  you  know.  Now 
what  are  you  going  to  make  of  yourself? — merchant  or  far- 
mer?" 

"  Neither,  sir." 

"  No  ?  " — said  Mr.  Glanbally.  He  looked  a  little  surprised, 
for  Mr.  Landholm's  letter  had  spoken  of  "  a  few  weeks." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  43 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

" 1  don't  know  what  I  shall  like  best,  sir,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  No,  not  yet ;  perhaps  not  yet.  You'll  be  a  happy  man  if 
ever  you  do,  sir.  I  never  knew  what  I  liked  best,  till  I  couldn't 
have  it.  Well  sir — what  do  you  calculate  to  begin  upon? — a 
little  arithmetic,  I  suppose,  won't  be  out  of  the  way." 

"  I  should  like — Latin,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Latin  !  Then  you're  following  your  brother's  steps  ?  I 
am  glad  of  it !  It  does  me  good  to  see  boys  studying  Latin. 
That's  right.     Latin.     And  Algebra,  perhaps." 

"Yes  sir." 

"I'll  put  you  into  Algebra,  as  soon  as  you  like.* 

"  I  shall  want  books,  I  suppose,  sir.     Can  I  get  them  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  you  can't  get  em,  I'm  afraid,  this  side  of  Deerford." 

"Deerford?" 

"  That's  six  miles  off,  or  so." 

"I  can't  walk  there  to-night,"  said  Winthrop;  "but  I'll  go 
to-morrow." 

"  Walk  there  to-night !  no, — but  we'll  see.  I  think  you've 
got  the  stuff  in  you.  To-night ! — Maybe  we  can  find  some  old 
books  that  will  do  to  begin  with ;  and  you  can  walk  over  there 
some  waste  afternoon.     How  far  have  you  come  to-day  ?  " 

"  About  thirteen  miles,  sir,  from  home." 

"  On  foot  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  And  you  want  half  a  dozen  more  to-night  ?  " 

"  No  sir,"  said  Winthrop,  smiling, — "  not  if  I  might  choose." 

"  You'll  find  a  day.  Your  father  spoke  to  me  about  your 
lodgings.  You  can  lodge  here,  where  I  do ;  only  twelve  shil- 
lings a  week.  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Nelson  about  it ;  and  you  can 
just  make  yourself  at  home.     I'm  very  glad  to  see  you." 

\  Make  himself  at  home '  1  Winthrop's  heart  gave  an  em- 
phatic answer,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair  the  opposite  sids  of  the  fire- 
place. Make  himself  at  home.  That  might  only  be  done  by  a 
swift  transport  of  thirteen  miles.  He  could  not  do  it,  if  he 
would.  Would  he,  if  he  could  ?  Nay ;  he  had  set  his  face  up 
the  mountain  of  learning,  and  not  all  the  luring  voices  that  might 
sound  behind  and  beside  him  could  tempt  him  to  turn  back.  He 
must  have  the  Golden  Water  that  was  at  the  top. 

It  was  necessary  to  stuff  cotton  into  his  ears.  Fancy  had 
obstinately  a  mind  to  bring  his  mother's  gentle  tread  about  him, 
and  to  ring  the  sweet  tones  of  home,  and  to  shew  him  pictures  of 
the  summer  light  on  the  hills,  and  of  the  little  snow-spread  valley 


44  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

of  winter.  Nay,  by  the  side  of  that  cold  fireplace,  with  Mr.  Glan 
bally  at  one  corner  and  himself  at  the  other,  she  set  the  bright 
hearth  of  home,  girdled  with  warm  hearts  and  hands ;  a  sad  break 
in  them  now  for  his  being  away.  Mr.  Grlanbally  had  returned  to 
his  book  and  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  it  with  his  nose ; 
and  Winthrop  was  left  alone  to  his  contemplations.  How  alone 
the  turning  over  of  those  leaves  did  make  him  feel.  If  Mr. 
Glanbally  would  have  held  up  his  head  and  used  his  fingers,  like 
a  Christian  man,  it  would  not  have  been  so  dreary ;  but  that  nose 
said  emphatically,  "  You  never  saw  me  before." 

It  was  a  help  to  him  when  somebody  came  in  to  spread  that 
bare  table  with  supper.  Fried  pork,  and  cheese ;  and  bread  that 
was  not  his  mother's  sweet  baking,  and  tea  that  was  very  "  herb- 
aceous." It  was  the  fare  he  must  expect  up  the  mountain.  He 
did  not  mind  that.  He  would  have  lived  on  bread  and  water. 
The  company  were  not  fellow-travellers  either,  to  judge  by  their 
looks.  No  matter  for  that;  he  did  not  want  company.  He 
would  sing,  "  My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is;  "  but  the  kingdom 
had  to  be  conquered  first;  enough  to  do.  He  was  thinking  all 
supper-time  what  waste  ground  it  was.  And  after  supper  he  was 
taken  to  his  very  spare  room.  It  was  doubtful  how  the  epithet 
could  possibly  have  been  better  deserved.  That  mattered  not ; 
the  temple  of  Learning  should  cover  his  head  by  and  by ; 
it  signified  little  what  shelter  it  took  in  the  mean  while.  But 
though  he  cared  nothing  for  each  of  these  things  separately,  they 
all  together  told  him  he  was  a  traveller ;  and  Winthrop's  heart 
owned  itself  overcome,  whatever  his  head  said  to  it. 

His  was  not  a  head  to  be  ashamed  of  his  heart ;  and  it  was 
with  no  self-reproach  that  he  let  tears  come,  and  then  wiped 
them  away.  He  slept  at  last ,  and  the  sleep  of  a  tired  man 
should  be  sweet.  But  "  as  he  slept  he  dreamed."  He  fell  to  his 
journeyings  again.  He  thought  himself  back  on  the  wearisome 
road  he  had  come  that  day,  and  it  seemed  that  night  and  darkness 
overtook  him  ;  such  night  that  his  way  was  lost.  And  he  was 
sitting  by  the  roadside,  with  his  little  bundle,  stayed  that  he 
could  not  go  on,  when  his  mother  suddenly  came,  with  a  light, 
and  offered  to  lead  him  forward.  But  the  way  by  which  she 
would  lead  him  was  not  one  he,  had  ever  travelled,  for  the  dream 
ended  there.  He  awoke  and  knew  it  was  a  dream ;  yet  somewhat 
in  the  sweet  image,  or  in  the  thoughts  and  associations  it  brought 
back,  touched  him  strangely ;  and  he  wept  upon  his  pillow  with 
the  convulsive  weeping  of  a  little  child.     And  prayed,  that  night, 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  45 

for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  in  the  journey  before  him  his 
mother's  God  might  be  his  God.     He  slept  at  last. 

He  awoke  to  new  thoughts  and  to  fresh  exertion.  Action, 
action,  was  the  business  of  the  day ;  to  get  up  the  hill  of  learn- 
ing, the  present  aim  of  life ;  and  to  that  he  bent  himself. 
Whether  or  not  Winthrop  fancied  this  opportunity  might  be  a 
short  one,  it  is  certain  he  made  the  most  of  it.  Mr.  Glanbally 
had  for  once  his  heart's  desire  of  a  pupil. 

It  was  a  week  or  two  before  the  walk  was  taken  to  Deerford 
and  the  books  bought.  At  the  end  of  those  weeks  the  waste 
afternoon  fell  out,  and  Mr.  Glanbally  got  Winthrop  a  ride  in  a 
wagon  for  one  half  the  way.  Deerford  was  quite  a  place ;  but 
to  Winthrop  its  great  attraction  was — a  Latin  dictionary  !  He 
found  the  right  bookstore,  and  his  dollar  was  duly  exchanged  for 
a  second-hand  Virgil,  a  good  deal  worn,  and  a  dictionary,  which 
had  likewise  seen  its  best  days ;  and  that  was  not  saying  much ; 
for  it  was  of  very  bad  paper  and  in  most  miserable  little  type. 
But  it  was  a  precious  treasure  to  Winthrop.  His  heart  yearned 
after  some  Greek  books,  but  his  hand  was  stayed ;  there  was 
nothing  more  in  it.  He  had  only  got  the  Virgil  and  dictionary 
by  favour  eking  out  his  eight  shillings,  for  the  books  were  de- 
clared to  be  worth  ten.  So  he  trudged  off  home  again  with  his 
purchases  under  his  arm,  well  content.  That  Virgil  and  diction- 
ary were  a  guide  of  the  way  for  a  good  piece  of  the  mountain. 
$ow  to  get  up  it. 

He  had  got  home  and  was  turning  the  books  over  with  Mr. 
Glanbally,  just  in  the  edge  of  the  evening,  when  the  door  opened 
quick  and  a  little  female  figure  came  in.  She  came  close  up  to 
the  table  with  the  air  of  one  quite  at  home. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Glanbally father  told  me  to  give  you 

this  letter. ' 

Winthrop  looked  at  her,  and  Mr.  Glanbally  looked  at  the 
letter.  She  was  a  slight  little  figure,  a  child,  not  more  than  thir- 
teen or  fourteen  at  the  outside,  perhaps  not  so  much,  but  tall  of 
her  age.  A  face  not  Hke  those  of  the  Asphodel  children.  She 
did  not  once  look  towards  him. 

"  Why  I  thought  you  were  in  Mannahatta,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  Just  going  there — we  have  just  come  from  Little  River  on 
our  way." 

"  This  letter  is  for  you,  Winthrop,"  said  Mr.  Glanbally,  hand- 
ing it  over.  "  And  Mr.  Haye  was  kind  enough  to  bring  it  from 
Little  River?" 

"  Yes  sir — he  said  it  was  for  somebody  here." 


46  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"  And  now  you  are  going  to  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir — to-morrow.     Good  bye,  Mr.  Glanbally." 

"  Are  you  alone,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Cadwallader  ?  " 

"  She's  at  home.     I've  just  been  down  to  see  nurse." 

"  But  it's  too  late  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Glanbally,  getting  up,— 
u  it's  too  dark — it's  too  late  for  you  to  go  home  alone." 

"Ono  sir,  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  Stop,  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Glanbally, — "  but  I've  been 
riding  till  I'm  as  stiff  as  the  tongs — Winthrop,  are  you  too  tired 
to  walk  home  with  this  young  lady  ? — as  her  father  has  brought 
you  a  letter  you  might  do  so  much." 

"  Certainly,  sir, — I  am  not  tired." 

"  I  don't  want  anybody.  I'm  not  in  the  least  afraid,  Mr. 
Glanbally,"  said  the  little  lady  rather  impatiently,  and  still  noi 
glancing  at  her  promised  escort. 

"  But  it's  better,  Miss  Elizabeth  "— 

"  No  sir,  it  isn't." 

"  Your  father  will  like  it  better,  I  know.  This  is  Mr.  Land 
holm — the  brother  of  the  Mr.  Landholm  you  used  to  see  last 
summer, — you  remember." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  her  guard,  as  if  she  had  no  mind  to  re- 
member anybody  of  the  name,  and  without  more  ado  left  the 
room.  Winthrop  understanding  that  he  was  to  follow,  did  so, 
and  with  some  difficulty  brought  himself  up  alongside  of  the 
little  lady,  for  she  had  not  tarried  for  him  and  was  moving  on  at 
a  smart  pace.  Her  way  led  them  presently  out  of  the  village  and 
along  a  lonely  country  road.  Winthrop  thought  he  was  not  a 
needless  conveni3nce  at  that  hour ;  but  it  was  doubtful  what  his 
little  charge  thought.  She  took  no  manner  of  notice  of  him. 
Winthrop  thought  he  would  try  to  bring  her  out,  for  he  was  play- 
ing the  part  of  a  shadow  too  literally. 

"  You  are  a  good  walker,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

A  slight  glance  at  him,  and  no  answer. 

"  Do  you  often  go  out  alone  so  late  ?  " 

"  Whenever  I  want  to." 

"  How  do  you  like  living  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  I  ? — I  don't  know.     I  have  never  lived  there." 

"  Have  you  lived  here  ?  " 
'    "Yes." 

The  tone  was  perfectly  self-possessed  and  equally  dry.  H, 
tried  her  again. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  47 

"  My  brother  says  you  have  a  very  pleasant  place." 

There  was  no  answer  at  all  this  time.  Winthrop  gave  it  up 
as  a  bad  business. 

It  had  grown  nearly  dark.  She  hurried  on,  as  much  as  was 
consistent  with  a  pace  perfectly  steady.  About  half  a  mile  from 
the  village  she  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  looked  towards  him,  al- 
most for  the  first  time. 

"  You  can  leave  me  now.    I  can  see  the  light  in  the  windows." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Winthrop  smiling  — "  Mr.  Glanbally  would 
hardly  think  I  had  done  my  duty." 

"  Mr.  Glanbally  needn't  trouble  himself  about  me  I  He  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.     This  is  far  enough." 

"  I  must  go  a  little  further." 

She  started  forward  again,  and  a  moment  after  hardly  made 
her  own  words  good.  They  encountered  a  large  drove  of  cattle, 
that  spread  all  over  the  road.  Little  independence  plainly  fal- 
tered here  and  was  glad  to  walk  behind  her  guard,  till  they  had 
passed  quite  through.  They  came  then  to  the  iron  gate  of  her 
grounds. 

"  You  needn't  come  any  further,"  she  said.     "  Thank  you." 

And  as  she  spoke  she  opened  and  shut  the  gate  in  his  face. 
Winthrop  turned  about  and  retraced  his  steps  homeward,  to 
read  his  brother's  letter.  It  was  read  by  his  little  end  of  candle 
after  he  went  up  to  bed  at  night. 

"  Little  Elver,  Nov.  1807. 

"  My  dear  Governor, 

"  For  I  expect  you  will  be  all  that,  one  of  these  days, 
(a  literal  governor,  I  mean,)  or  in  some  other  way  assert  your 
supremacy  over  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  rest  of  the  humaD 
race.  Methinks  even  now  from  afar  I  see  Joseph's  dream  en- 
acting, in  your  favour,  only  you  will  perforce  lack  something 
of  his  baker's  dozen  of  homages  in  your  own  family.  Unless — 
but  nobody  can  tell  what  may  happen.  For  my  part  I  am  sin- 
cerely willing  to  be  surpassed,  so  it  be  only  by  you  ;  and  will 
swing  my  cap  and  hurrah  for  you  louder  than  anybody,  the 
first  time  you  are  elected.  Do  not  think  I  am  more  than  half 
mad.  In  truth  I  expect  great  things  from  you,  and  I  expect 
without  any  fear  of  disappointment.  You  have  an  obstinacy  of 
perseverance,  under  that  calm  face  of  yours,  that  will  be  more 
than  a  match  for  all  obstacles  in  your  way ;  indeed  obstacles  only 
make  the  rush  of  the  stream  the  greater,  if  once  it  get  by  them ; 
the  very  things  which  this  minute  threatened  to  check  it,  the  next 


48  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEHUC. 

are  but  trophies  in  the  foaming  triumph  of  its  onward  course. 
You  can  do  what  you  will ;  and  you  will  aim  high.  Aim  at  the 
highest. 

"  I  am  aiming  as  hard  as  I  can,"  and  so  fast  that  I  can't-see 
whether  my  arrows  hit.  Not  at  the  capture  of  any  pretty  face, 
— though  there  are  a  few  here  that  would  be  prizes  worth  captur- 
ing ;  but  really  I  am  not  skilled  in  that  kind  of  archery  and  on 
the  whole  am  not  quite  ready  for  it.  An  archer  needs  to  be  bet- 
ter equipped,  to  enter  those  lists  with  any  chance  of  success, 
than  alas  !  I  am  at  present.  I  am  aiming  hard  at  the  dressing 
up  of  my  mind,  in  the  sincere  hope  that  the  dressing  up  of  my 
person  may  have  some  place  in  the  after-piece.  In  other  words, 
I  am  so  busy  that  I  don't  know  what  I  am  doing.  Asphodel  was 
a  miserable  place  (though  I  am  very  glad  you  are  in  it) — my 
chances  of  success  at  Little  River  are  much  better.  Indeed  I 
am  very  much  to  my  mind  here ;  were  I,  as  I  said,  a  little  better 
equipped  outwardly,  and  if  my  aunt  Landholm  only  had  mam- 
ma's recipe  for  making  pumpkin  pies ;  or,  as  an  alternative,  had 
the  pumpkin  crop  this  season  but  failed.  But  alas !  the  huge 
number  of  the  copper-coloured  tribe  that  lurked  among  the  corn 
forests  a  few  weeks  ago,  forbid  me  to  hope  for  any  respite  till  St. 
Nicholas  jogs  my  aunt  L.'s  elbow. 

"  I  have  left  myself  no  room  to  say  with  how  much  delight  I 
received  your  letter,  nor  with  what  satisfaction  I  think  of  you  as 
having  fairly  started  in  the  race.     You  have  entered  your  plough, 
now,  Governor, — quick,  quick,  for  the  other  side. 
"  Thine  in  the  dearest  rivalry, 

"Will.  Rufus  Landholm. 

"  All  manner  of  love  to  mamma,  papa,  and  the  little  ones, 
from  Will." 

In  another  corner, — M  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Have  makes  so  little 
stay  at  Asphodel  at  this  time — you  will  not  see  anything  of  him, 
nor  of  his  place." 

"  I  can  bear  that,"  thought  Winthrop. 

He  was  much  too  busy  to  see  men  or  places.  One  fortnight 
was  given  to  the  diligent  study  of  Algebra ;  two  other  little  fort- 
nights to  Latin ;  and  then  his  father  came  and  took  him  home, 
iooner  than  he  expected.     But  he  had  "  entered  his  plough." 

Yet  it  was  hard  to  leave  it  there  just  entered ;  and  the  ride 
home  was  rather  a  thoughtful  one.  Little  his  father  knew  what 
he  had  been  about.     He  thought  his  son  had  been  "  getting  a 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  49 

little  schooling ;  "  he  had  no  notion  he  had  begun  to  fit  himself 
for  College ! 

Just  as  they  reached  the  river,  at  a  little  hamlet  under  the 
hill  at  the  foot  of  the  north  bay,  where  the  road  branched  off  to 
skirt  the  face  of  the  tableland  towards  the  home  promontory,  the 
wagon  was  stopped  by  Mr.  Underhill.  He  came  forward  and 
unceremoniously  rested  both  arms  upon  the  tire  of  the  fore 
wheel. 

"  Mornin'.     Where'  you  been  ?  n 

"  A  little  way  back.  'Been  to  Asphodel,  to  fetch  my  son 
Winthrop  home." 

11  Asphodel  ? that's  a  good  way  back,  ain't  it  ?  ' 

"  Well,  a  dozen  miles  or  so,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  laughing. 

"  Has  Le  been  to  the  'cademy  too  ?  " 

"  Yes — for  a  little  while  back,  he  has." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  make  of  your  sons,  neighbour  Land- 
holm  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! — I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  touching  his  whip 
gently  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other  side  of  his  off 
horse  ; — "  I  can't  make  much  of  'em— they've  got  to  make  them- 
selves." 

Neighbour  Underhill  gave  a  sharp  glance  at  Winthrop  and 
then  came  back  again. 

"  What  do  you  reckon's  the  use  of  all  this  edication,  farmer  ?  " 

"  0 — I  guess  it  has  its  uses,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  smiling  a 
little  bit. 

"  Well,  do  you  s'pose  these  boys  are  goin'  to  be  smarter  men 
than  you  and  I  be  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

11  You  do  !  Well,  drive  on ! — "  said  he,  taking  his  arms  from 
the  top  of  the  wheel.  But  then  replacing  them  before  the  wag- 
on had  time  to  move 

"  Where's  Will  ?  " 

"  Will  ?  he's  at  Little  River — doing  well,  as  I  hear." 

"  Doing  what  ?  getting  himself  ready  for  College  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes — he  isn't  ready  yet." 

"  I  say,  neighbour, — it  takes  a  power  of  time  to  get  these  fel- 
lows ready  to  begin,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  with  a  sigh. 

"  After  they're  gone  you  calculate  to  do  all  the  work  your* 
self,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  0  I've  only  lost  one  yet,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  shaking  the 
reins ;  "  and  he'll  help  take  care  of  me  by  and  by,  I  expect. — ■ 
Come  ! " 

3 


50  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Again  the  other's  hands  slipped  off  the  wheel,  and  again 
were  put  back. 

"  We're  goin'  to  do  without  larnin'  here,"  said  he.  "  Lost 
our  schoolmaster." 

"  That  fellow  Dolts  gone  ?  " 

"  Last  week." 

u  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

u  The  place  and  him  didn't  fit  somewheres,  I  s'pose ;  at  least 
I  don't  know  what  'twas  if  'twa'n't  that." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Play  marbles,  I  guess, — till  some  one  comes  along." 

"  Well,  my  hands  '11  be  too  cold  to  play  marbles,  if  I  sit  here 
much  longer,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  laughing.  "  Good  day  to 
ye!" 

And  the  wheel  unclogged,  they  drove  on. 


CHAPTEE  VI.  ; 

To  be  a  well-favoured  man  is  the  gift  of  fortune  ;  but  to  write  and  read  cornea  by 
nature.  Much  Ado  About  Nothing 

Little  could  be  done  in  the  winter.  The  days  were  short  and 
full  of  employment ;  all  the  more  for  Will's  absence.  What  with 
threshing  wheat  and  oats,  foddering  cattle,  and  dressing  flax,  driv- 
ing to  mill,  cutting  wood,  and  clearing  snow,  there  was  no  time  for 
Virgil  during  the  few  hours  of  daylight ;  hardly  time  to  repeat 
a  Latin  verb.  The  evenings  were  long  and  bright,  and  the 
kitchen  cosy.  But  there  were  axe-helves  to  dress  out,  and  oars, 
and  ox-yokes ;  and  corn  to  shell,  and  hemp  to  hackle ;  and  at  which- 
ever corner  of  the  fireplace  Winthrop  might  set  himself  down,  a 
pair  of  little  feet  would  come  pattering  round  him,  and  petitions, 
soft  but  strong,  to  cut  an  apple,  or  to  play  jackstraws,  or  to  crack 
hickory  nuts,  or  to  roast  chestnuts,  were  sure  to  be  preferred; 
and  if  none  of  these,  or  if  these  were  put  off,  there  was  still  too 
much  of  that  sweet  companionship  to  suit  with  the  rough  road  to 
learning.  Winnie  was  rarely  put  off,  and  never  rejected.  And 
the  little  garret  room  used  by  Winthrop  and  Will  when  the  latter 
was  at  home,  and  now  by  Winthrop  alone,  was  too  freezing  cold 
when  he  went  up  to  bed  to  allow  him  more  than  a  snatch  at  his 
longed-for  work.  A  few  words,  a  line  or  two,  were  all  that  could 
be  managed  with  safety  to  life ;  and  the  books  had  to  be  shut  up 
again,  with  bitter  mortification  that  it  must  be  so  soon.  The 
winter  passed  and  Virgil  was  not  read.  The  spring  brought 
longer  days,  and  more  to  do  in  them. 

"  Father,"  said  Winthrop  one  night,  "  they  have  got  no  one 
yet  in  Mr.  Dolts'  place." 


52  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  What,  at  Mountain  Spring  ?  I  know  they  haven't.  The  fool- 
ish man  thought  twelve  dollars  a  month  wa'n't  enough  for  him,  I 
suppose." 

"  Why  was  he  foolish,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Because  he  greatly  misstated  his  own  value — which  it  isn't 
the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  do.  I  know  he  wasn't  worth  twelve 
dollars." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  worth  more  than  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  worth,"  said  his  father  good- 
humouredly.     "  I  should  be  sorry  to  put  a  price  upon  you." 

"  Why,  Winthrop  ?  " — his  mother  said  more  anxiously 

"  Will  you  let  me  take  Mr.  Dolts'  place,  father  ?  " 

"  His  place  ?    What,  in  the  schoolhouse  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir.     If  I  can  get  it,  I  mean." 

"What  for?" 

u  The  twelve  dollars  a  month  would  hire  a  man  to  do  my  work 
on  the  farm." 

"  Yes,  and  I  say,  what  for  ?    What  do  you  want  it  for  ?  " 

"  I  think  perhaps  I  might  get  more  time  to  myself." 

"Time?— for  what?  " 

"  Time  to  study,  sir." 

"  To  study ! — Teach  others  that  you  may  teach  yourself,  eh  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Landholm,  with  a  breath  that  was  drawn  very  much  like 
a  sigh ;  and  he  was  silent  and  looked  grave. 

"lam  afraid  you  wouldn't  like  it,  Winthrop,"  said  his  mother 
seriously. 

"  I  should  like  the  time,  mamma." 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  little  richer,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  drawing 
his  breath, — "  and  my  sons  should  have  a  better  chance.  I  am 
willing  to  work  both  my  hands  off — if  that  would  be  of  any  avail. 
You  may  do  as  you  please,  my  dear,  about  the  school.  I'll  not 
stand  in  your  way." 

"  The  twelve  dollars  would  pay  a  man  who  would  do  as  much 
work  as  I  could,  father." 

"  Yes,  yes, — that's  all  straight  enough." 

"  Is  Winthrop  going  to  teach  school  ?  "  exclaimed  Asahel. 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  Then  I  should  go  to  school  to  Winthrop,"  said  the  little  boy 
clapping  his  hands, — "shouldn't  I,  mamma?  Wouldn't  it  be 
fanny?" 

"  I  too  ?  "  cried  Winifred. 

"  Hush,  hush.     Hear  what  your  father  says." 

"  I  am  only  sorry  you  should  have  to  resort  to  3iich  expedi- 
ents." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  53 

"  Do  you  think  they  would  take  me,  father  ?  " 

"  Take  you  ?  yes !     If  they  don't,  I'll  make  them." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

Winthrop  presently  went  with  the  children,  who  drew  him 
out  into  the  kitchen.  Mr.  Landholm  sat  a  few  moments  in  silent 
and  seemingly  disturbed  thought. 

"  That  boy  '11  be  off  to  College  too,"  he  said,—"  after  his 
brother." 

"  He'll  not  be  likely  to  go  after  anything  wrong,"  said  Mrs. 
Landholm. 

"  No — that's  pretty  certain.     Well,  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  him ! " 

"  "Whatever  he  undertakes  I  think  he'll  succeed  in,"  the 
mother  went  on  remarking. 

"  I  think  so  too.  He  always  did,  from  a  child.  It's  his  cha- 
racter. There's  a  sharp  edge  to  Rufus's  metal, — but  I  think 
Winthrop's  is  the  best  stuff.  "Well  I  ain't  ashamed  of  either  one 
on  'em ! " 

Winthrop  took  the  school.  He  found  it  numbering  some 
thirty  heads  or  more.  That  is,  it  would  count  so  many,  though 
in  some  instances  the  heads  were  merely  nominal.  There  were 
all  sorts,  from  boys  of  fifteen  and  sixteen  that  wanted  to  learn  the 
Multiplication  table,  down  to  little  bits  of  girls  that  did  not  know 
A,  B,  and  C.  Rough  heads,  with  thoughts  as  matted  as  their 
hair ;  lank  heads,  that  reminded  one  irresistibly  of  blocks ;  and 
one  fiery  red  shock,  all  of  whose  ideas  seemed  to  be  standing  on 
end  and  ready  to  fly  away,  so  little  hold  had  they  upon  either 
knowledge,  wit,  or  experience.  And  every  one  of  these  wanted 
different  handling,  and  every  one  called  for  diligent  study  and 
patient  painstaking.  There  were  often  fine  parts  to  be  found 
under  that  rough  and  untrained  state  of  nature ;  there  were  blocks 
that  could  be  waked  into  life  by  a  little  skill  and  kind  manage- 
ment and  a  good  deal  of  time ;  and  even  the1  fly-away  shock  could 
be  brought  down  to  order  and  reason  by  a  long  course  of  patience 
and  firmness.  But  the  younger  heads  that  had  no  thoughts  at 
all, — the  minds  that  were  blank  of  intelligence, — the  eyes  that 
opened  but  to  stare  at  the  new  teacher !  What  amount  of  cul- 
ture, what  distance  of  days  and  months,  would  bring  something 
out  of  nothing ! 

It  was  hard,  hard  work.  There  was  nobody  to  help  the  new 
teacher ;  he  wrought  alone ;  that  the  teacher  always  did.  The 
days  were  days  of  constant,  unintermitted  labour ;  the  nights  were 
jaded  and  spiritless.  After  spelling  a  great  deal  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  and  making  up  an  indefinite  number  of  sums  in  addition 


54  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

and  multiplication,  Winthrop  found  his  stomach  was  gone  for 
Latin  and  Virgil.  Ears  and  eyes  and  mind  were  sick  of  the  din 
of  repetitions,  wearied  with  confusions  of  thought  not  his  own ;  he 
was  fain  to  let  his  own  rest.  The  children  "  got  on,"  the  parents 
said, "  first-rate ;  "  but  the  poor  teacher  was  standing  still.  "Week 
passed  after  week,  and  each  Saturday  night  found  him  where  he 
was  the  last.  He  had  less  time  than  on  the  farm.  Fresh  from 
the  plough,  he  could  now  and  then  snatch  a  half  hour  of  study 
to  some  purpose ;  there  was  no  "  fresh  from  the  school."  Besides 
all  which,  he  still  found  himself  or  fancied  himself  needed  by  his 
father,  and  whenever  a  pinch  of  work  called  for  it  he  could  not 
hold  back  his  hand. 

( How  does  it  go,  Winthrop  ?  "  said  his  mother  when  she  saw 
him  wearily  sitting  down  one  summer  night. 

"  It  doesn't  go  at  all,  mother." 

"  I  was  afraid  that  it  would  be  so." 

"  How  does  what  go  ?  "  said  Asahel. 

"The  school." 

"  How  does  it  go  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  head ;  and  I  am  tired  of  carrying  it." 

"  Don't  you  like  being  school-teacher  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  /  do,"  said  Asahel. 

"I  wouldn't  stay  in  it,  Winthrop,"  said  his  mother. 

"  I  will  not  mamma, — only  till  winter.  I'll  manage  it  so 
long." 

Eight  months  this  experiment  was  tried,  and  then  Winthrop 
came  back  to  the  farm.  Eight  months  thrown  away !  he  sadly 
said  to  himself.  He  was  doubly  needed  at  home  now,  for  Mr. 
Landholm  had  again  been  elected  to  the  Legislature ;  and  one  of 
the  first  uses  of  Winthrop's  freedom  was  to  go  with  his  father  to 
Vantassel  and  drive  the  wagon  home  again. 

One  thing  was  gained  by  this  journey.  In  Yantassel,  Win- 
throp contrived  to  possess  himself  of  a  Greek  lexicon  and  a  Graeca 
Majora,  and  also  a  Greek  grammar,  though  the  only  one  he 
could  get  that  suited  his  purse  was  the  Westminster  grammar,  in 
which  the  alternatives  of  Greek  were  all  Latin.  That  did  not 
stagger  him.  He  came  home  rich  in  his  classical  library,  and  very 
resolved  to  do  something  for  himself  this  winter. 

The  day  after  his  return  from  Vantassel,  just  as  they  had  done 
supper,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  front  door.  Winthrop  went  to 
open  it.  There  he  found  a  man,  tall  and  personable,  well-dressed 
though  like  a  traveller,  with  a  little  leathern  valise  in  his  hand. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  55 

Winthrop  had  hardly  time  to  think  he  did  not  look  like  an  Ameri- 
can, when  his  speech  confirmed  it. 

u  How-do-you-do  ?  "  he  said,  using  each  word  with  a  ceremony 
which  shewed  they  were  not  denizens  of  his  tongue.  "  I  am 
wanting  to  make  some  reserche  in  dis  country,  and  I  was  directet 
here." 

Winthrop  asked  him  in,  and  then  when  he  was  seated,  asked 
him  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  am  wishing  to  know  if  you  could  let  me  live  wiz  you  a  few 
days — I  am  wanting  to  be  busy  in  your  mountains,  about  my  af- 
fairs, and  I  just  want  to  know  if  you  can  let  me  have  a  bed  to 
sleep  on  at  night,  and  a  little  somet'ing  to  eat — I  would  be  very 
much  obliged  and  I  would  pay  you  whatever  you  please " 

"  Mother,"  said  Winthrop,  "  can  you  let  this  gentleman  stay 
here  a  few  days  ?  he  has  business  in  the  mountains,  he  says,  and 
wants  to  stop  here  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  no  trouble  to  no  person,"  he  said  blandly, 
"  I  was  at  a  little  house  on  de  ozer  side  of  de  river,  but  I  was  told 
dere  was  no  room  for  me,  and  I  come  to  an  ozer  place  and  dey 
told  me  to  come  to  dis  place.  I  will  not  trouble  no  person — I 
only  want  a  place  to  put  my  head  while  my  feet  are  going  all 
over." 

A  moment's  hesitation,  and  Mrs.  Landholm  agreed  to  this  very 
moderate  request ;  and  Mr.  Herder,  as  he  gave  his  name,  and  his 
valise,  were  accommodated  in  the  '  big  bedroom.'  This  was  the 
best  room,  occupying  one  corner  of  the  front  of  the  house,  while 
the  '  keeping-room '  was  at  the  other ;  a  tiny  entry -way,  of  hardly 
two  square  yards,  lying  between,  with  a  door  in  each  of  three  sides 
and  a  steep  staircase  in  the  fourth, 

Winthrop  presently  came  to  ask  if  the  stranger  had  had 
supper. 

"  I  have  not !  But  I  will  take  anysing,  what  you  please  to 
give  me." 

Mr.  Herder  did  not  belie  his  beginning.  He  made  himself 
much  liked,  both  by  the  children  and  the  grown  people ;  and  as  he 
said,  he  gave  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  He  seemed  a  hearty 
genial  nature,  excessively  devoted  to  his  pursuits,  which  were 
those  of  a  naturalist  and  kept  him  out  of  doors  from  morning  till 
night ;  and  in  the  house  he  shewed  a  particular  simplicity  both  of 
politeness  and  kind  feeling;  in  part  springing  perhaps  from 
his  German  nature,  and  in  part  from  the  honest  truthful  acquaint- 
ance he  was  holding  with  the  world  of  nature  at  large.  "  He 
acted  like  a  great  boy,"  old  Karen  said  in  wondering  ridicule, — 


56  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

u  to  be  bringing  in  leaves,  and  sticks,  and  stones,  as  he  was  every 
night,  and  making  his  room  such  a  mess  she  never  saw  !  " 

He  had  soon  a  marked  liking  and  even  marked  respect  for  his 
young  host.  With  his  usual  good-humour  Winthrop  helped  him 
in  his  quest ;  now  and  then  offered  to  go  with  him  on  his  expedi- 
tions ;  tracked  up  the  streams  of  brooks,  shewed  the  paths  of 
the  mountains,  rowed  up  the  river  and  down  the  river ;  and  often 
and  often  made  his  uncommon  strength  and  agility  avail  for  some- 
thing which  the  more  burly  frame  of  the  naturalist  could  not  have 
attained.  He  was  always  ready ;  he  was  never  wearied ;  and  Mr. 
Herder  found  him  an  assistant  as  acute  as  he  was  willing. 

"  You  do  know  your  own  woods — better  than  I  do !  " — he  re- 
marked one  day  when  "Winthrop  had  helped  him  out  of  a  botanical 
difficulty. 

"  It's  only  the  knowledge  of  the  eye,"  Winthrop  replied,  with 
a  profound  feeling  of  the  difference. 

"  But  you  do  seem  to  love  knowledge — of  every  kind,"  said 
the  naturalist, — "  and  that  is  what  I  like." 

aI  have  very  little,"  said  Winthrop.  "  I  ought  to  love  what 
I  can  get." 

"  That  is  goot,"  said  Mr.  Herder ; — "  that  is  de  right  way. 
Yen  I  hear  a  man  say,  '  I  have  much  knowledge,' — I  know  he 
never  will  have  much  more  ;  but  ven  I  hear  one  say,  '  I  have  a 
little,' — I  expect  great  things." 

Winthrop  was  silent,  and  presently  Mr.  Herder  went  on. 

"  What  kind  of  learning  do  you  love  de  best  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  really." 

"  What  have  you  studied  ?  " 

Winthrop  hesitated. 

"  A  little  Latin,  sir." 

"  Latin !  — How  much  Latin  have  you  read  ?  " 

"  The  Gospel  of  John,  and  nearly  the  first  book  of  the  iEneid. 
But  I  have  very  little  time." 

"  The  Evangel  of  St.  John,  and  the  JEneid  Are  you  going 
on  to  study  it  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir, — as  much  as  I  can  find  time." 

"Greek  too?" 

"  No  sir.     I  am  only  beginning." 

"  I  ask,  because  I  saw  some  Greek  books  on  de  table  de  ozer 
night  and  I  wondered — excuse  me — who  was  reading  them.  You 
do  not  know  nothing  of  German  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  Ah,  you  must  learn  de  German — dat  is  my  language." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  57 

"  I  don't  know  my  own  language  yet,"  said  Winthrop. 

"Vat  is  dat?" 

"  English." 

"  English  ! — But  how  do  you  do,  here  amongst  de  hills — is 
there  somebody  to  learn  you  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"And,  you  go  by  yourself  ? — Yell,  I  believe  you  will  climb 
anything,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  with  a  little  smile ;  "  only  it  is  goot 
to  know  what  place  to  begin, — as  I  have  found." 

"  I  must  begin  where  I  can,  sir." 

"  But  you  should  get  to  de  Universit6 ;  from  dere  it  is  more 
easy." 

"  I  know  that,  sir ;  that  is  what  I  am  trying  to  fit  myself 
for." 

"  You  do  not  need  so  much  fitting — you  will  fit  yourself 
better  there.  I  would  get  away  to  de  Universite.  You  will  go 
up — I  see  it  in  your  face — you  will  go  up,  like  you  go  up  these 
rocks ;  it  is  pretty  steep,  but  you  know,  vere  one  person  cannot 
stand,  anozer  will  mount.  And  what  will  you  do  wiz  yourself 
when  you  get  to  de  top  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet,  sir,"  Winthrop  said  laughing. 

"  It  is  just  so  goot  not  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Herder.  "  What 
thing  a  man  may  wish  to  make  himself,  no  matter  what,  he  should 
fit  himself  for  some  ozer  thing.  Or  else,  he  may  be  just  one 
thing — he  might  be  poet,  or  mathematicien,  or  musicien  maybe,— 
and  not  be  a  whole  man.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"  I  did  not  know  no  more  what  I  would  be,  when  I  first  went 
to  de  Universite"  of  Halle      I  have  been  to  seven  Universites." 

Winthrop  looked  at  him,  as  if  to  see  whether  he  were  cased  in 
sevenfold  learning. 

"  I  am  not  so  very  wise,  neizer,"  he  said  laughing.  "  And  now 
I  am  in  de  eight  Universite — in  Mannahatta — and  if  you  will 
come  dere  I  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ; — but  I  am  afraid  Mannahatta  would  be  too 
expensive  for  me." 

"  Perhaps. — But  vere  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  sir,  yet." 

"  But  ven  you  get  through,  you  will  come  to  Mannahatta  and 
let  me  see  what  you  have  made  of  yourself?  " 

Winthrop  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  when  that  will  be, 
Mr.  Herder." 

They  were  walking  through  a  tangled  woodland,  along  one  of 

3* 


58  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMtTC. 

the  deep  mountain  gorges ;  the  naturalist  stopping  frequently  to  give 
closer  notice  to  something.  He  stood  still  here  to  examine  a  piece 
of  rock. 

"  Will  you  let  me  give  you  one  little  direction,"  said  he  pro- 
ducing his  little  hammer, — "  two  little  direction,  or  I  should  call 
them  big  direction,  which  may  be  of  some  goot  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would,  sir." 

"In  de  first  place  den,  don't  never  go  half  way  through  noz- 
ing.  If  some  thing  you  want  to  know  is  in  de  middle  of  dat 
rock,"  said  he  striking  it,  "  knock  de  rock  all  to  pieces  but  what 
you  will  have  it.  I  mean,  when  you  begin,  finish,  and  do  it 
goot." 

"  That  is  what  I  think,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  In  de  second  place,"  continued  Mr.  Herder,  illustrating  part 
of  his  former  speech  by  hammering  off  some  pieces  of  rock  from 
the  mass, — "  don't  never  think  that  no  kind  of  knowledge  is  of  no 
use  to  you.  Dere  is  nozing  dat  it  is  not  goot  to  know.  You 
may  say,  it  is  no  use  to  you  to  know  dat  colour  of  de  outside  of 
dis  rock,  and  dis  colour  of  de  inside ;  you  are  wrong ;  you  ought 
to  learn  to  know  it  if  you  can ;  and  you  will  find  de  use  before 
you  die,  wizout  you  be  a  very  misfortunate  man.  Dere  is  nozing 
little  in  dis  world;  all  is  truth,  or  it  will  help  you  find  out  truth; 
and  you  cannot  know  too  much." 

"  I  believe  that,  sir ;  and  I  will  remember  it." 

"  And  when  you  have  learned  English  and  Latin  and  Greek 
you  will  learn  German?  "  said  the  naturalist,  putting  the  fragment? 
of  rock  in  his  pocket. 

Winthrop  laughed  at  his  expression. 

"  Promise  me  dat  you  will.  You  will  find  it  of  use  to  you 
too." 

"  But  all  useful  things  are  not  possible,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  I  wish  it  was  possible  for  you  to  bring  down  that  bird,'' 
said  the  naturalist,  gazing  up  towards  a  pair  of  huge  wings  above 
them ; — "  It  would  be  very  useful  to  me."  The  creature  was  sail- 
ing through  the  distant  ether  in  majestic  style,  moving  its  wings 
bo  little  that  they  seemed  an  emblem  of  powerful  repose. 

"  That  is  a  white-headed  eagle,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  I  know  him !  "  said  the  naturalist,  still  gazing.  "  I  wish  I  had 
him  • —  'but  dat  is  a  thing  in  which  is  no  goot ;  as  he  is  too  far 
off  for  me  to  reach  him.  Better  for  him !  And  it  will  be  better 
for  us  to  go  home,  for  the  day  is  not  very  long." 

Neither  was  Mr.  Herder's  stay  in  the  mountains  after  that. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  59 

At  parting  lie  assured  Winthrop  "  he  should  be  very  glad  to  do 
him  all  the  goot  he  could  do,  if  he  would  only  let  him  know  how." 

This  was  just  after  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  The  winter  was  a 
mild  one,  and  so  fruitful  in  business  belonging  to  the  farm  that 
Winthrop's  own  private  concerns  had  little  chance.  Latin  was 
pushed  a  little,  and  Greek  entered  upon ;  neither  of  them  could 
be  forwarded  much,  with  all  the  stress  that  hope  or  despair  could 
make.  Snowstorm,  and  thaw,  and  frost,  and  sun,  came  after  and 
after  each  other,  and  as  surely  and  constantly  the  various  calls 
upon  Winthrop's  time ;  and  every  change  seemed  to  put  itself  be- 
tween him  and  his  books.  Mr.  Landholm  was  kept  late  in  Van- 
tassel,  by  a  long  session,  and  the  early  spring  business  came  all 
upon  his  son's  hands. 

Letters  were  rather  infrequent  things  in  those  days,  waiting, 
as  they  usually  did,  for  private  carriage.  It  was  near  the  end  of 
March  that  the  rare  event  of  two  letters  in  one  day  happened  to 
the  quiet  little  household. 

Winthrop  got  one  at  the  post-office,  with  the  Yantassel  mark; 
and  coming  home  found  his  mother  sitting  before  the  fire  with 
another  in  her  hand,  the  matter  of  which  she  was  apparently 
studying. 

"  A  letter,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes— from  Will."    • 

"  How  did  it  come  ?  " 

"  It  came  by  Mr.  Underhill." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  what  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  Not  much — you  can  see  for  yourself." 


"  And  here's  one  from 


papa 


Mrs.  Landholm  took  it,  and  Winthrop  took  Rufus's. 

"  Little  River,  March  18,  1809. 

"  What  does  papa  mean  to  do  ?  Something  must  be  done,  for 
I  cannot  stay  here  for  ever ;  neither  in  truth  do  I  wish  it.  If  I 
am  ever  to  make  anything,  it  is  time  now.  I  am  twenty-one,  and 
in  mind  and  body  prepared,  I  think,  for  any  line  of  enterprise  to 
which  fortune  may  call  me.  Or  if  nothing  can  be  done  with 
me, — if  what  has  been  spent  must  be  thrown  away — it  is  needless 
to  throw  away  any  more ;  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  come 
home  and  settle  down  to  the  lot  for  which  I  seemed  to  be  born 
Nothing  can  be  gained  by  waiting  longer,  but  much  lost. 

"  I  am  not  desponding,  but  seriously  this  transition  life  I  an 
leading  at  present  is  not  very  enlivening.  I  am  neither  one  thin$ 
nor  the  other ;  I  am  in  a  chrysalis  state,  which  is  notoriously  a 


60  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

dull  one ;  and  I  have  the  further  aggravation,  which  I  suppose 
never  occurs  to  the  nymph  bona  fide,  of  a  miserable  uncertainty 
whether  my  folded-up  wings  are  those  of  a  purple  butterfly  or  of 
a  poor  drudge  of  a  beetle.  Besides,  it  is  conceivable  that  the 
chrysalis  may  get  weary  of  his  case,  and  mine  is  not  a  silken 
one.  I  have  been  here  long  enough.  My  aunt  Landholm  is 
very  kind ;  but  I  think  she  would  like  an  increase  of  her  house- 
hold accommodations,  and  also  that  she  would  prefer  working  it 
by  the  rule  of  subtraction  rather  than  by  the  more  usual  and  ob- 
vious way  of  addition.  She  is  a  good  soul,  but  really  I  believe 
her  larder  contains  nothing  but  pork,  and  her  pantry  nothing  but 
pumpkins !  She  has  actually  contrived,  by  some  abomina- 
ble mystery  of  the  kitchen,  to  keep  some  of  iheni  over  through  a 
period  of  frost  and  oblivion,  and  to-day  they  made  their  appear- 
ance in  due  form  on  the  table  again ;  my  horror  at  which  appear- 
ance has  I  believe  given  me  an  indigestion,  to  which  you  may  at- 
tribute whatever  of  gloominess  there  may  be  contained  in  this  let- 
ter. I  certainly  felt  very  heavy  when  I  sat  down ;  but  the  sight 
of  all  your  faces  through  fancy's  sweet  medium  has  greatly  re- 
freshed me. 

"  Nevertheless  answer  me  speedily,  for  I  am  in  earnest,  al- 
though I  am  in  jest. 

"  I  intend  to  see  you  at  all  events  soon. 

"  Love  t>  the  little  ones  and  to  dear  ma  and  pa  from 

"  Rufus." 

"  What  does  father  say,  mother  ?  "  was  all  Winthrop's  com- 
mentary on  this  epistle.  She  gave  him  the  other  letter,  and  he 
yielded  his  brother's  again  to  her  stretched-out  hand. 

"  Vantassel,  March  22,  1809. 
"  My  dear  Orphah 

"I  am  really  coming  home  !  I  never  knew  any 
months  so  long,  it  seems  to  me,  as  these  three.  The  business  will  be 
finished  I  believe  next  week,  and  the  Session  will  rise,  and  the  first 
use  I  shall  make  of  my  recovered  freedom  will  be — can  you  doubt 
it  ? — to  hasten  home  to  my  family.  My  dear  family — they  are 
closer  to  me  all  the  time  than  you  think,  and  for  some  weeks  past  it 
seems  to  me  they  have  had  half  of  every  thought.  But  I  will  be 
with  you  now,  Providence  willing,  by  the  middle  of  the  week,  I 
hope,  or  as  soon  after  as  I  can. 

M  The  last  fortnight  has  been  spent  in  talking — we  have  had  a 
very  stormy  discussion  of  that  point  I  spoke  to  you  of  in  my  last 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  61 

The  opposition  of  parties  has  run  very  high.     It  is  gaining  fearful 
ground  in  the  country.     I  tremble  for  what  may  be  the  issue. 

"I  am  quite  well  again.  Mr.  Haye  has  been  very  atten- 
tive and  kind,  and  the  Chancellor  has  shewn  himself  very 
friendly. 

"  I  expect  Will  will  be  at  home  as  soon  as  I  am  myself.  I 
wrote  to  him  that  he  had  better  do  so.  I  cannot  afford  to  keep 
him  any  longer  there,  and  there  seems  nothing  better  for  him  to 
do  at  present  but  to  come  home.     I  hope  for  better  days. 

"  Love  to  all  till  I  see  you,  my  dear  wife  and  children, 

"  W.  Landholm. 

"  My  son  Winthrop,  this  word  is  for  you.  I  am  coming  home 
soon  I  hope  to  relieve  you  of  so  much  care.  Meanwhile  a  word, 
I  want  Sam  to  go  into  the  north  hill-field  with  the  plough,  as  soon 
as  he  can ;  I  think  the  frost  must  be  out  of  the  ground  with  you. 
I  intend  to  put  wheat  there  and  in  the  big  border  meadow.  The 
bend  meadow  is  in  no  hurry ;  it  will  take  corn,  I  guess.  You  had 
better  feed  out  the  turnips  to  the  old  black  cow  and  the  two 
heifers." 

The  letters  were  read  at  last,  and  folded  up,  by  the  respec- 
tive hands  that  held  them. 

"  Well,  Will's  coming  home,"  the  mother  said,  with  half  a 
sigh. 

Winthrop  did  not  answer ;  he  made  over  to  her  hand  the  let- 
ter he  held  in  his  own. 

"  The  north  hill-field  is  pretty  much  all  ploughed  already," 
he  remarked. 

"  You're  a  good  farmer,  Governor,"  said  his  mother.  c  But 
I  am  afraid  that  praise  doesn't  please  you." 

"  Yes  it  does,  mamma,"  he  answered  smiling  a  little. 
•     "  But  it  don't  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  it  does  you,  mamma.  It  helps  my  hope  of 
being  a  good  something  else  some  day." 

"  I  don't  care  much  what  you  are,  Governor,  if  it  is  only  some- 
thing good"  she  said. 

He  met  her  grave,  wistful  eyes,  but  this  time  he  did  not  smile ; 
and  a  stranger  might  have  thought  he  was  exceedingly  unim- 
pressible.     Both  were  silent  a  bit. 

"  Well,  it  will  be  good  to  see  them,"  Mrs.  Landholm  said, 
again  with  that  half  sighing  breath ;  "  and  now  we  must  make 
haste  and  get  all  ready  to  welcome  them  home." 


' 


CHAPTEK    YII. 

Happy  Ire 
"With  such  a  mother !  faith  in  womankind 
Beats  with  his  blood,  and  trust  in  all  things  high 
Comes  easy  to  him. 

Tennyson. 

What  a  coming  home  that  was.  Who  could  have  guessed  that 
any  ungrateful  cause  had  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  What 
kisses,  what  smiles,  what  family  rejoicings  at  the  table,  what 
endless  talks  round  the  fire.  What  delight  in  the  returned  Mem- 
ber of  Assembly;  what  admiration  of  the  future  Collegian.  For 
nobody  had  given  that  up ;  wishes  were  bidden  to  wait  awhile, 
that  was  all ;  and  as  the  waiting  had  procured  them  this  dear 
home-gathering,  who  could  quarrel  with  it.  Nay,  there  was  no 
eye  shaded,  there  was  no  voice  untuned  for  the  glad  music  of 
that  time. 

"  Well  i''s  worth  going  away,  to  come  back  again,  ain't  it  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Landholm,  when  they  were  gathered  round  the  fire  that 
first  evening. 

u  No,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  think  so  last  winter,"  said  the  father  of  the 
family,  drawing  his  broad  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  I  hafe  thought  so  this  great  while,"  said 

Rufus.     "  It's it's  seven  or  eight  months  now  since  I  have 

been  home." 

"  Papa,"  said  little  Winifred,  squeezing  in  and  climbing  up 
on  her  father's  knees, — "  we  have  wanted  you  every  night." 

"  You  did ! "  said  her  father,  bending  his  face  conveniently 
down  to  her  golden  curls ; — "  and  what  did  you  do  by  day  ?  " 

"Owe  wanted  you;  but  then  you  know  we  were  so  busy  In 
the  day-time." 

" Busy!  "  said  her  father, — "  I  guess  you  were  busy ! " 

She  made  herself  busy  then,  for  putting  both  arms  round  his 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  63 

neck  she  pressed  and  kissed  his  face,  till  feeling  grew  too  excited 
with  the  indulgence  of  it,  and  she  lay  with  her  head  quite  still 
upon  his  shoulder  where  nobody  could  see  her  eyes.  The  father's 
eyes  told  tales. 

"  I  think  Winifred  has  forgotten  me,"  observed  Rufus. 

But  Winifred  was  in  no  coudition  to  answer  the  charge. 

"  Winifred  doesn't  forget  anybody,"  said  her  father  fondly. 
a  "We're  none  of  us  given  to  forgetting.  I  am  thankful  that  we 
have  one  thing  that  some  richer  folks  want — we  all  love  one  an- 
other. Winifred, — I  thought  you  were  going  to  shew  me  that 
black  kitten  o'  your'n  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  kitten,  papa, — it  is  Asahel's." 

"  Well  let  Asahel  bring  it  then." 

Which  Asahel  did. 

"  Have  you  looked  at  the  cattle,  Mr.  Landholm  i "  said  his 
wife. 

"  No — not  yet — this  is  the  first  specimen  of  live  stock  I've 
seen,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  viewing  attentively  a  little  black  kitten 
which  was  sprawling  very  uncomfortably  upon  the  painted  floor. 
"  I've  heard  of  'em  though.  Asahel  has  been  giving  me  a  detail  at 
length  of  all  the  concerns  of  the  farm.  I  think  he'll  make  an 
excellent  corresponding  secretary  by  and  by." 

"  I  was  only  telling  papa  what  Governor  had  been  doing," 
said  Asahel. 

"  You  wete  afraid  he  would  be  forgotten.  There,  my  dear, 
I  would  let  the  little  cat  go  back  to  its  mother." 

"  No  papa, — Asahel  wanted  you  should  know  that  Governor 
didn't  forget." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  time,  Asahel,"  said  his  elder 
brother,  "  that  a  cat  was  sold  by  the  length  of  her  tail  ?  " 

"  By  the  length  of  her  tail !  "  said  Asahel  unbelievingly. 

"  Yes — for  as  much  wheat  as  would  cover  the  tip  of  her  tail 
when  she  was  held  so " 

And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Rufus  suspended  the 
kitten  with  its  nose  to  the  floor  and  the  point  of  its  tail  at  the 
utmost  height  it  could  reach  above  that  level.  Winifred  screamed ; 
Asahel  sprang ;  Rufus  laughed  and  held  fast. 

"  It's  a  shame  !  "  said  Winifred. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  do  it !  "  said  Asahel.  "  It  isn't  the 
law,  if  it  was  the  law;  and  it  was  a  very  cruel  law !  " 

But  Rufus  only  laughed ;  and  there  seemed  some  danger  of  a 
break  in  that  kindliness  of  feeling  which  their  father  had  vaunted, 
till  Mrs.  Landholm  spoke,     A  word  and  a  look  of  hers,  to  one 


61  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

and  the  other,  made  all  smooth ;  and  they  went  on  again  talking, 
of  happy  nothings,  till  it  was  time  to  separate  for  the  night. 
It  was  only  then  that  Mr.  Landholm  touched  on  any  matter  of 
more  than  slight  interest. 

"  Well  Rufus,"  he  said  when  at  last  they  rose  from  their 
chairs, — "  are  you  all  ready  for  College  ?  V 

"Yes  sir."  * 

A  little  shadow  upon  both  faces — a  very  little. 

"lam  glad  of  it.  Well  keep  ready ; — you'll  go  yet  one  of 
these  days — the  time  will  come.  You  must  see  if  you  can't  he 
contented  to  keep  at  home  a  spell.  We'll  shove  you  off  by  and 
by." 

Neither  party  Very  well  satisfied  with  the  decision,  but  there 
was  no  more  to  be  said. 

To  keep  at  home  was  plain  enough;  to  be  contented  was 
another  matter.  Rufus  joined  again  in  the  farm  concerns ;  the 
well-worn  Little  River  broadcloth  was  exchanged  for  homespun ; 
and  Winthrop's  plough,  and  hoe,  and  axe,  were  mated  again  as  in 
former  time  they  used  to  be.  This  at  least  was  greatly  enjoyed 
by  the  brothers.  There  was  a  constant  and  lively  correspondence 
between  them,  on  all  matters  of  interest,  past,  present,  and  future, 
and  on  all  matters  of  speculation  attainable  by  either  mind ;  and 
though  judgments  and  likings  were  often  much  at  variance,  and 
the  issues,  to  the  same  argument,  were  not  always  the  same  with 
each;  on  one  point,  the  delight  of  communication,  they  were 
always  at  one.  Clearly  Rufus  had  no  love  for  the  axe,  nor  for 
the  scythe,  but  he  could  endure  both  while  talking  with  Winthrop ; 
though  many  a  time  it  would  happen  that  axe  and  scythe  would 
be  lost  in  the  interest  of  other  things ;  and  leaning  on  his  snathe, 
or  flinging  his  axe  into  a  cut,  Rufus  would  stand  to  argue,  01 
demonstrate,  or  urge,  somewhat  just  then  possessing  all  his 
faculties ;  till  a  quiet  reminder  of  his  brother's  would  set  him  to 
laughing  and  to  work  again ;  and  sweetly  moved  the  scythes 
through  the  grass,  and  cheerily  rung  the  axes,  for  the  winrows 
were  side  by  side  and  the  ringing  answered  from  tree  to  teree. 
And  the  inside  of  home  gave  Rufus  pleasure  too.  Yet  there 
Were  often  times, — when  talk  was  at  a  standstill,  and  mother's 
''good  things  "  were  not  on  the  table,  with  a  string  of  happy  faces 
round  it,  and  neither  axe  nor  scythe  kept  him  from  a  present 
feeling  of  inaction, — that  the  shadow  reappeared  on  Rufus's  brow. 
He  would  sit  in  the  chimney  corner,  looking  far  down  into  tho 
hearth-stones,  or  walk  moodily  up  and  down  the  floor,  behind  the 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  65 

backs  of  the  other  people,  with  a  face  that  seemed  to  belong  to 
some  waste  corner  of  society. 

"  My  son,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  one  evening  when  Mr.  Land- 
holm  was  out  and  the  little  ones  in  bed, — "  what  makes  you  wear 
such  a  sober  face  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  mother, — only  that  I  am  doing  nothing." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  Your  father  was  saying  that  he 
never  saw  anybody  sow  broadcast  with  a  finer  hand — he  said 
you  had  done  a  grand  day's  work  to  day." 

An  impatiently  drawn  breath  was  the  answer. 

"  Rufus,  mobody  is  doing  nothing  who  is  doing  all  that  God 
gives  him  leave  to  do." 

11  No  mother and  nobody  ever  will  do  much  who  does  not 

hold  that  leave  is  given  him  to  make  of  himself  the  utmost  that 
he  can." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  she  said  quietly. 

Nobody  spoke ;  and  then  Rufus  said,  not  quietly, 

"  Depends  on  circumstances,  ma'am ; — some  one  thing  and 
some  another." 

"  My  son  Rufus, — we  all  have  the  same  interest  at  heart 
with  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  ma'am ;  I  would  rather  be  disappointed 
alone." 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  disappointment — I  do  not  look  for 
any,  in  the  end.  Cannot  you  bear  a  little  present  disappoint- 
ment ?  " 

rt  I  do  bear  it,  ma'am." 

"  But  Winthrop  has  the  very  same  things  at  stake  as  you 
have,  and  I  do  not  see  him  wear  such  a  disconsolate  face, — ever." 

"  Winthrop — "  the  speaker  began,,  and  paused,  every  feature 
of  his  fine  face  working  with  emotion.  His  hearers  waited,  but 
whatever  lay  behind,  nothing  more  of  his  meaning  came  out. 

"  Winthrop  what  ? — "  said  his  brother  laughing. 

"  You  are  provokingly  cool ! "  said  the  other,  his  eye  changing 
again. 

"  You  have  a  right  to  find  fault  with  that,"  said  Winthrop 
still  laughing,  "  for  certainly  it  is  a  quality  with  which  you  never 
provoked  anybody." 

Rufus  seemed  to  be  swallowing  more  provocation  than  he 
had  expressed. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  of  me,  Rufus  ?  "  said  the  other 
seriously. 

"  Nothing—" 


66  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"  If  you  meant  to  say  that  I  have  not  the  same  reason  to  be 
disappointed  that  you  have,  yon  are  quite  right." 

"  I  meant  to  say  that ;  and  I  meant  to  say  that  you  do  not 
feel  any  disappointment  as  much  as  I  do." 

Winthrop  did  not  attempt  to  mend  this  position.  He  only 
mended  the  fire. 

'i  I  wish  you  need  not  be  disappointed ! "  the  mother  said 
sighing,  looking  at  the  fire  with  a  very  earnest  face. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Winthrop  cheerfully,  "  it  is  no  use 
to  wish  that  in  this  world." 

"  Yes  it  is — for  there  is  a  way  to  escape  disappointments, — 
if  you  would  take  it." 

"  To  escape  disappointments !  "  said  Rufus. 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Will  you  promise  to  follow  it  ?  " 

"  No  mother,"  he  said,  with  again  a  singular  play  of  light  and 
shade  over  his  face ; — "  for  it  will  be  sure  to  be  some  impossible  way. 

I  mean that  an  angel's  wings  may  get  over  the  rough  ground 

where  poor  human  feet  must  stumble." 

How  much  the  eyes  were  saying  that  looked  at  each  other ! 

"  There  is  provision  even  for  that,"  she  answered.  "'As  an 
eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest,  fluttereth  over  her  young;  spreadeth 
abroad  her  wings,  taketh  them,  beareth  them  on  her  wings,'  so 
the  Lord  declares  he  did  once  lead  his  people, — and  he  will  again, 
—over  rough  ground  or  smooth." 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Rufus,  "  you  are  very  good,  and 
I am  not  very  good." 

"  I  don't  know  that  that  is  much  to  the  point,"  she  said  smi- 
ling a  little. 

\  Yes  it  is." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  cannot  go  the  road  that  others  have 
gone,  with  the  same  help  ?  " 

"  If  I  should  say  yes,  I  suppose  you  would  disallow  it,"  he 
replied,  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  again ;  "  but  my  conscious- 
ness remains  the  same." 

There  was  both  trouble  and  dissatisfaction  in  his  face. 

"  Will  your  consciousness  stand  this  ? — '  Even  the  youths  shall 
faint  and  be  weary,  and  the  young  men  shall  utterly  fall;  but 
they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength :  they 
shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles,' — just  what  you  were  wish* 
ing  for,  Rufus ; — '  they  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary ;  and  they 
shall  walk,  and  not  faint.'  " 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  67 

He  was  silent  a  minute ;  and  then  replied,  "  That  will  always 
continue  to  be  realized  by  some  and  not  by  others. " 

"  If  you  were  as  easily  disheartened  in  another  line,  Rufus, 
you  would  never  go  through  College." 

"  My  dear  mother !  "  he  said,  "  if  you  were  to  knock  all  my 
opinions  to  pieces  with  the  Bible,  it  wouldn't  change  me." 

"  I  know  it !  "  she  said. 

There  was  extreme  depression  in  voice  and  lip,  and  she  bent 
down  her  face  on  her  hand. 

Two  turns  the  length  of  the  room  Rufus  took ;  then  he  came 
to  the  back  of  her  chair  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  But  mother,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  you  haven't  told  us  the 
way  to  escape  disappointments  yet ;  I  didn't  understand  it.  For 
aught  I  see,  everybody  has  his  share  Even  you — and  I  don't 
know  who  deserves  them  less — even  you,  I  am  afraid,  are  disap- 
pointed, in  me." 

It  was  as  much  as  he  could  do,  evidently,  to  say  that ;  his 
eyes  were  brilliant  through  fire  and  water  at  once.  She  lifted  up 
her  head,  but  was  quite  silent. 

"  How  is  it,  mamma  ?  or  how  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  I  must  take  you  to  the  Bible  again,  Eufus." 

"  Well  ma'am,  I'll  go  with  you.     Where  ?  " 

She  turned  over  the  leaves  till  she  found  the  place,  and  giv- 
ing it  to  him  bade  him  read. 

"  '  Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the 
ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way  of  sinners,  nor  sitteth  in  the 
seat  of  the  scornful ;  but  his  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the  Lord, 
and  in  his  law  doth  he  meditate,  day  and  night. 

"  *  And  he  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  rivers  of  water, 
that  bringeth  forth  his  fruit  in  due  season ;  his  lenf  also  shall  not 
wither,  and  whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  prosper.''  " 

Rufus  stopped  and  stood  looking  on  the  page. 

"  Beautiful  words  !  "  he  said. 

"  They  will  bear  looking  at,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm. 

"  But  my  dear  mother,  I  never  heard  of  anybody  in  my  life 
of  whom  this  was  true." 

"  How  many  people  have  you  heard  of,  in  your  life,  who  an- 
swered the  description  ?  " 

Rufus  turned  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  again. 

"  But  suppose  he  were  to  undertake  somethiDg  not  well  -not 
right  ?  " 

"  The  security  reaches  further  back,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  You  forget,"  said  his  mother,  "  he  could  not  do  that  or 
could  not  persist  in  it." 


68  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Rufus  walked,  and  the  others  sat  still  and  looked  at  the  fire, 
till  the  opening  of  the  door  let  in  Mr.  Landholm  and  a  cold  blast 
of  air ;  which  roused  the  whole  party.  Winthrop  put  more  wood 
on  the  fire;  Mr.  Landholm  sat  down  in  the  corner  and  made 
himself  comfortable ;  and  Mrs.  Landholm  fetched  an  enormous 
tin  pan  of  potatoes  and  began  paring  them.  Rufus  presently 
stopped  behind  her  chair,  and  said  softly,  "  What's  that  for 
mother  ?  " 

"  For  your  breakfast  to-morrow,  sir." 

"  Where  is  Karen  ?  " 

"  In  bed." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  her  do  them,  mother  ?  " 

"  She  has  not  time,  my  son." 

Rufus  stood  still  and  looked  with  a  discontented  face  at  the 
thin  blue-veined  fingers  in  which  the  coarse  dirty  roots  were  turn- 
ing over  and  over. 

"  I've  got  a  letter  from  my  friend  Haye  to-day,"  Mr.  Land- 
holm said. 

"  What  Haye  is  that  ?"  said  his  wife. 

"  What  Haye  ? — there's  only  one  that  I  know  of;  my  old 
friend  Haye — you've  heard  me  speak  of  him  a  hundred  times.  I 
used  to  know  him  long  ago  in  Mannahatta  when  I  lived  at  Pil- 
licoddy ;  and  we  have  been  in  the  Legislature  together,  time  and 
again." 

"  I  remember  now,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm  paring  her  potatoes. 
"  What  does  btf  want  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  guess  he  wants  ?  " 

"  Something  from  the  farm,  I  suppose." 

«  Not  a  bit  of  it." 

*  Mr.  Haye  of  Asphodel  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  Asphodel  ?  no,  of  Mannahatta ; — he  used  to  be  at  Asphodel." 

"  What  does  he  want,  sir  ?  " 

**  I  am  going  to  tell  your  mother  by  and  by.  It's  her  con- 
cern." 

"  Well  tell  it,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  some  company  in  the  house 
this  summer  ?  " 

Mrs.  Landholm  laid  the  potatoe  and  her  knife  and  her  hands 
down  in  the  pan,  and  looking  up  asked,  "  What  sort  of  com- 
pany ?  " 

"  You  know  he  has  no  wife  this  many  years  ?  " 

"  Yes—" 

"  Well — he's  a  couple  of  little  girls  that  he  wants  to  put 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  69 

somewhere  in  the  country  this  summer,  for  their  health,  I  under- 
stand." 

Mrs.  Landholm  took  up  her  knife  again  and  pared  potatoes 
diligently. 

"  Does  he  want  to  send  them  here  ?  " 

"  He  intimates  as  much ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  be 
very  glad.  It  wouldn't  be  a  losing  concern  to  us,  neither.  He 
would  be  willing  to  pay  well,  and  he  can  afford  it.* 

"  What  has  he  done  with  his  own  place,  at  Asphodel  ?  "  said 
Winthrop. 

"  Sold  it,  he  tells  me.  Didn't  agree  with  his  daughter,  the 
air  there,  or  something,  and  he  says  he  couldn't  be  at  the  bother 
of  two  establishments  without  a  housekeeper  in  nary  one  of  'em. 
And  I  think  he's  right.     I  don't  see  how  he  could." 

Winthrop  watched  the  quick  mechanical  way  in  which  his 
mother's  knife  followed  the  paring  round  and  round  the  potatoes, 
and  he  longed  to  say  something.  "  But  it  is  not  my  affair,"  he 
thought ;  "  it  is  for  Rufus.     It  is  not  mt/-business  to  speak." 

Nobody  else  spoke  for  a  minute. 

"  What  makes  him  want  to  send  his  children  here  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Landholm  without  looking  up  from  her  work. 

11  Partly  because  he  knows  me,  I  suppose ;  and  maybe  he  has 
heard  of  you.  Partly  because  he  knows  this  is  just  the  finest 
country  in  the  world,  and  the  finest  air,  and  he  wants  them  to 
run  over  the  hills  and  pick  wild  strawberries  and  drink  country 
milk,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  It's  just  the  place  for  them,  as 
I  told  him  once,  I  remember." 

"  You  told  him  ! " 

"  Yes.  He  was  saying  something  about  not  knowing  what  to 
do  with  his  girls  last  winter,  and  I  remember  I  said  to  him  that 
he  had  better  send  them  to  me  ;  but  I  had  no  more  idea  of  his 
taking  it  up,  at  the  time,  than  I  have  now  of  going  to  Egypt." 

Mrs.  Landholm  did  not  speak. 

"  You  have  somewhere  you  can  put  them,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  There's  nobody  in  the  big  bedroom." 

"  Well,  do  you  think  you  can  get  along  with  it  ?  or  will  it 
give  you  too  much  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  they  would  never  be  satisfied,  Mr.  Landholm, 
with  the  way  we  live." 

"  Pho  !  I'll  engage  they  will.  Satisfied !  they  never  saw 
such  butter  and  such  bread  in  their  lives,  I'll  be  bound,  as  you 
can  give  them.     If  they  aren't  satisfied  it'll  do  'em  good." 


70  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  But  bread  and  butter  isn't  all,  Mr.  Laudholm ;  what  will 
they  do  with  our  dinners,  without  fresh  meat  ?  " 

"  What  will  they  do  with  them  ?  Eat  'em,  fast  enough,  only 
you  have  enough.  I'll  be  bound  their  appetites  will  take  care  of 
the  rest,  after  they  have  been  running  over  the  mountains  all  tho 
morning.  You've  some  chickens,  hav'n't  you  ? — and  I  could  get 
a  lamb  now  and  then  from  neighbour  Upshur ;  and  here's  Win- 
throp  can  get  you  birds  and  fish  any  day  in  the  year." 

"  Winthrop  will  hardly  have  time." 

"  Yes  he  will ;  and  if  he  don't  we  can  call  in  Anderese. 
He's  a  pretty  good  hunter." 

"  I'm  not  a  bad  one,"  said  Rufus. 

"  And  you  have  Karen  to  help  you.  2"  think  it  will  be  a  very 
fine  thing,  and  be  a  good  start  maybe  towards  Rufus's  going  to 
College." 

Another  pause,  during  which  nothing  moved  but  the  knife 
and  Mrs.  Landholm's  fingers. 

"  Well — what  do  you  say  ?  "  said  her  husband. 

"  If  you  think  it  will  do — I  am  willing  to  try,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  I  know  it  will  do ;  and  I'll  go  and  write  directly  to  Haye 

1   suppose   he'd   like  to  know;    and  to-morrow  my  hands 

will  have  something  to  hold  besides  pens." 

There  was  profound  silence  again  for  a  little  after  he  went 
out. 

"  How  old  are  these  children  ?  "  Mrs.  Landholm  said. 

Neither  answered  promptly. 

"  I  saw  one  of  them  when  I  was  at  Asphodel,"  said  Win 
throp ;  "  and  she  was  a  pretty  well  grown  girl ;  she  must  have 
been  thirteen  or  fourteen." 

"  And  that  was  a  year  and  a  half  ago  !  Is  her  sister  younger 
or  older?" 

"  It  isn't  her  sister,"  said  Rufus ;  "  it's  her  cousin,  I  believe ; 
Mr.  Haye  is  her  guardian.     She's  older." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  A  year  or  two — I  don't  know  exactly." 

Mrs.  Landholm  rose  and  took  up  her  pan  of  potatoes  with  an 
air  that  seemed  to  say  Miss  Haye  and  her  cousin  were  both  in  it, 
and  carried  it  out  into  the  kitchen. 

Some  little  time  had  passed,  and  Winthrop  went  there  to  look 
for  her. .  She  had  put  her  pan  down  on  the  hearth,  and  herself 
by  it,  and  there  she  was  sitting  with  her  arms  round  her  knees. 

Winthrop  softly  came  and  placed  himself  beside  her. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEHUC.  71 

"  Mother—" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  knee,  without  speaking  to  him  or 
looking  at  him. 

"  Mother — I'll  be  your  provider." 

"  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  be  yours,  Governor,"  she  said, 
turning  to  him  a  somewhat  wistful  face. 

"  There  isn't  anything  in  the  world  I  would  rather,"  said  he, 
kissing  her  cheek. 

She  gave  him  a  look  that  was  reward  enough. 

"  I  wonder  how  soon  they  will  come,"  she  said. 

"  That  is  what  I  was  just  asking ;  and  pa  said  he  supposed  as 
soon  as  the  weather  was  settled." 

"  That  won't  be  yet  awhile.  You  must  see  and  have  a  good 
garden,  Governor.     Perhaps  it  will  be  all  for  the  best." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Hills  questioning  the  heavens  for  light — 

Kavines  too  deep  to  scan  ! 
As  if  the  wild  earth  mimicked  there 

The  wilder  heart  of  man ; 
Only  it  shall  he  greener  far 
And  gladder,  than  hearts  ever  are. 

E.  B.  BlowNiua. 


It  was  the  first  of  June;  a  fair  lovely  summer  morning, 
June-like. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Haye  will  come  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Land- 
holm,  as  he  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  breakfast-table ; — 
"  have  you  anywhere  you  can  put  him  ?  " 

"  There's  the  little  bedroom,  he  can  have,"  said  Mrs.  Land- 
holm.     "  Asahel  can  go  in  the  boys'  room." 

a  Very  good.  Winthrop,  you  had  better  take  the  boat  down 
in  good  time  this  afternoon  so  as  to  be  sure  and  be  there — I  can't 
be  spared  a  moment  from  the  bend  meadow.  The  grass  there  is 
just  ready  to  be  laid.  It's  a  very  heavy  swath.  I  guess  there's 
all  of  three  tons  to  the  acre." 

"  Take  the  boat  down  where  ?  "  said  Asahel. 

"  To  Cowslip's  mill,"  said  his  brother.  "  What  time  will  the 
stage  be  along,  sir  ?  " 

"  Not  much  before  six,  I  expect.  You'll  have  the  tide  with 
you  to  go  down." 

"  It's  well  to  look  at  the  fair  side  of  a  subject,"  said  Win 
throp,  as  his  father  left  the  room. 

"  May  I  go  with  you,  Governor  ?  "  said  Asahel. 

"  No  sir." 

"  Why  ?  "  - 

"  Because  I  shall  have  the  tide  hard  against  me  coming  back." 

"  But  I  am  not  much,  and  your  arms  are  strong,"  urged  As- 
ahel. 


THE    IIILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  T3 

"Very  true.  Well — we'll  see.  Mother,  do  you  want  any 
fishto-<%y?" 

A  sort  of  comical  taking  of  the  whole  subject  somehow  was 
expressed  under  these  words,  and  set  the  whole  family  a-laughing. 
All  but  Rufus;  he  was  impenetrable.  He  sat  finishing  his 
breakfast  without  a  word,  but  with  a  certain  significant  air  of  the 
lip  and  eyebrow,  and  dilating  nostril,  which  said  something  was 
wrong. 

It  was  the  fairest  of  summer  afternoons ;  the  sky  June's  deep 
and  full-coloured  blue,  the  sun  gay  as  a  child,  the  hills  in  their 
young  summer  dress,  just  put  on ;  and  the  water, — well  it  was 
running  down  very  fast,  but  it  was  running  quietly,  and  lying  un- 
der the  sky  and  the  sunshine  it  sparkled  back  their  spirit  of  life 
and  joy.  The  air  was  exceeding  clear,  and  the  green  outlines  of 
the  hills  rose  sharp  against  the  blue  sky. 

Winthrop  stood  a  minute  on  one  of  the  rocks  at  the  water's 
edge  to  look,  and  then  stepped  from  that  to  the  one  where  his 
boat  was  moored,  and  began  to  undo  the  chain. 

"  Are  you  going  down  after  those  people?  "  said  the  voice  of 
Rufus  behind  him.     It  sounded  in  considerable  disgust. 

"  What  do  you  advise  ?  "  said  Winthrop  without  looking  up. 

"  I  would  see  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  river  first ! " 

"  Bad  advice,"  said  Winthrop.  "  It  would  be  a  great  deal 
harder  to  go  after  them  there." 

"  Do  you  know  what  effect  your  going  now  will  have  ? ' 

"Upon  them?" 

"  No,  upon  you." 

"  Well — no,"  said  Winthrop  looking  at  the  river ;  "  I  shall 
have  a  pull  up,  but  I  shall  hardly  hear  any  news  of  that  to-mor- 
row." 

"  It  will  make  them  despise  you  !  " 

"  That  would  be  rather  an  effect  upon  them,"  said  Winthrop, 
throwing  the  loosened  chain  into  the  boat's  head  and  stepping  in 
himself; — "  as  it  strikes  me." 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  my  advice,"  said  Kufus. 

"  Which  ?  "  said  his  brother. 

"  Let  them  alone !  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Winthrop ;  "  I  mean  that." 

"  You  are  excessively  provoking !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  said  Winthrop  smiling.  "  What  do  you 
propose  that  I  should  do,  Rufus  ?  " 

"  Send  Sam  Doolittle  in  your  place." 
4 


74  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Willingly ;  but  it  happens  that  he  could  not  fill  my  place 
You  must  see  that." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  bring  up  their  baggage  and  all  ?  " 

"  I  must  know  the  sum  of  two  unknown  quantities  before  I 
can  tell  whether  it  is  just  equal  to  a  boat-load." 

Rufus  stood  on  the  shore,  biting  his  lip.  The  little  boat  was 
silently  slipping  out  from  between  the  rocks,  after  a  light  touch 
or  two  of  the  oars,  when  Asahel  came  bounding  down  the  road 
and  claimed  Winthrop's  promise  for  a  place  in  it. 

"  You  don't  want  this  child  with  you  !  "  said  Rufus. 

But  Winthrop  gave  one  or  two  pushes  in  the  reverse  direction 
and  with  great  skill  laid  the  skiff  alongside  of  the  rock.  Asahel 
jumped  in  triumphantly,  and  again  slowly  clearing  the  rocks  the 
little  boat  took  the  tide  and  the  impulse  of  a  strong  arm  at  once, 
and  shot  off  down  the  stream. 

They  kept  the  mid-channel,  and  with  its  swift  current  soon 
came  abreast  of  the  high  out-jutting  headland  behind  which  the 
waters  turned  and  hid  themselves  from  the  home  view.  Diver's 
Rock,  it  was  called,  from  some  old  legend  now  forgotten.  A  few 
minutes  more,  and  the  whole  long  range  of  the  river  below  was 
plain  in  sight,  down  to  a  mountain  several  miles  off,  behind  which 
it  made  yet  another  sharp  turn  and  was  again  lost.  In  that 
range  the  river  ran  a  little  west  of  south ;  just  before  rounding 
Diver's  Rock  its  direction  was  near  due  east,  so  that  the  down 
tide  at  the  turn  carried  them  well  over  towards  the  eastern  shore. 
That  was  what  they  wanted,  as  Cowslip's  mill  was  on  that  side.  So 
keeping  just  far  enough  from  the  shore  to  have  the  full  benefit  of 
the  ebb,  they  fell  softly  and  quick  down  the  river ;  with  a  changing 
panorama  of  rocks  and  foliage  at  their  side,  the  home  promontory 
of  Shahweetah  lying  in  sight  just  north  of  them,  and  over  it  the 
heads  of  the  northern  mountains ;  while  a  few  miles  below, 
where  the  river  made  its  last  turn,  the  mountains  on  either  side 
locked  into  one  another  and  at  once  checked  and  rested  the  eye. 
The  lines  of  ground  there  were  beautiful;  the  western  light 
sported  among  them,  dividing  hill  from  hill,  and  crowning  their 
heads  with  its  bright  glory.  It  was  the  dynasty  of  the  East, 
just  then.  The  eastern  mountains  sat  in  stately  pride ;  and  their 
retainers,  the  woods,  down  to  the  water  side,  glittered  in  the 
royal  green  and  silver ;  for  on  their  fresh  unsullied  leaves  the 
light  played  with  many  a  sheen.  The  other  shore  was  bright 
enough  still ;  but  the  shadows  were  getting  long  and  the  sun  was 
getting  low,  and  the  contrast  was  softly  and  constantly  growing. 

"  It's  pretty,  aint  it,  Winthrop  ?  "  said  Asahel. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  75 

"  Yes." 

"  I  wonder  what's  the  reason  you  row  so  much  better  than 
Rufus — Rufus  bites  his  lip,  and  works  so,  and  makes  such  a 
splash, — and  you  don't  seem  as  if  you  worked  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  because  I  am  stronger,"  said  "Winthrop. 

"  Rufus  is  strong  enough.  But  that  can't  be  the  reason  you 
do  everything  better  than  he  does." 

"  That  don't  happen  to  be  the  state  of  the  case." 

"  Yes  it  does ;  for  you  always  catch  the  most  fish,  and  papa 
said  last  summer  he  never  saw  any  one  bind  and  tie  as  fast  as  you 
did." 

Again  silently  the  boat  fell  down  along  the  shore,  a  little 
dark  speck  amidst  the  glow  of  air  and  water. 

"  How  nice  you  look  in  your  white  jacket  and  trousers,"  said 
Asahel. 

"  I  am  glad  tc  hear  it,"  said  Winthrop  laughing.  "  Is  it  such 
an  uncommon  thing  ?  " 

11  It  is  uncommon  for  you  to  look  so  nice.  You  must  take 
great  care  of  them,  Winthrop ; — it  took  mother  so  long  to  make 
them." 

"  I  have  another  pair,  boy,"  said  Winthrop,  biting  his  lips,  as 
the  boat  rounded  to  the  little  flight  of  steps  at  Cowslip's  mill. 

"  Yes,  but  then  you  know,  Karen There's  the  stage,  Gov- 
ernor ! — and  the  folks  are  come,  I  guess.  Do  you  see  those  heads 
poking  out  of  the  windows  ?  " — 

"  You  stay  here  and  mind  the  boat,  Asahel." 

And  Winthrop  sprang  ashore  and  went  up  to  the  crossing 
where  the  stage-coach  had  stopped. 

At  'Cowslip's  mill'  there  was  a  sloop  landing;  a  sort  of 
wharf  was  built  there ;  and  close  upon  the  wharf  the  mill  and 
storage  house  kept  and  owned  by  Mr.  Cowslip.  From  this  cen- 
tral point  a  road  ran  back  over  the  hills  into  the  country,  and  at 
a  little  distance  it  was  cut  by  the  high  road  from  Vantassel. 
Here  the  stage  had  stopped. 

By  the  time  Winthrop  got  there,  most  of  the  effects  he  was 
to  take  charge  of  had  been  safely  deposited  on  the  ground.  Two 
young  ladies,  and  a  gentleman  seeming  not  far  from  young,  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  coach  to  watch  the  success  of  the  driver  and 
Mr,  Cowslip  in  disinterring  sundry  trunks  and  boxes  from  under 
the  boot  and  a  load  of  other  trunks  and  boxes. 

"  Where's  Mr.  Landholm  ?  isn't  Mr.  Landholm  here  ?  "  said 
the  gentleman  impatiently. 


76  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

*  /here's  somebody  from  Mr.  Landholm  ahint  you,"  remarked 
Mr.  Jowslip  in  the  course  of  tugging  out  one  of  the  trunks. 

The  gentleman  turned. 

k<  Mr.  Landholm  could  not  be  here,  sir,"  said  Winthrop ; 
11  mt  his  boat  is  here,  and  he  has  sent  me  to  take  care  of  it." 

"  He  has  !  Couldn't  come  himself,  eh  ?  I'm  sorry  for  that. 
-The  box  from  the  top  of  the  stage,  driver — that's  all. — Do  you 
-nderstand  the  management  of  a  boat  ?  "  said  he  eyeing  Win- 
hrop  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Winthrop.  "  I  am  accustomed  to  act 
as  Mr.  Landholm's  boatman.     I  am  his  son." 

"  His  son,  are  you !  Ah  well,  that  makes  all  straight.  I  can 
trust  you.     Not  his  eldest  son  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  I  thought  it  couldn't  be  the  same.  Well  he's  a  deuced 
handsome  pair  of  sons,  tell  him.  I'm  very  sorry  I  can't  stop, — 
I  am  obliged  to  go  on  now,  and  I  must  put  my  daughter  and 
Miss  Cadwallader  in  your  charge,  and  trust  you  to  get  them  safe 
home.     I  will  be  along  and  come  to  see  you  in  a  few  days." 

"  The  trunks  is  all  out,  sir,"  said  the  driver.  "  We  oughtn't 
to  stop  no  longer.     It's  a  bad  piece  atween  here  and  Bearfoot." 

"  I  leave  it  all  to  you,  then,"  said  Mr.  Haye.  "  Elizabeth, 
this  young  gentleman  will  see  you  and  your  baggage  safe  home. 
You  won't  want  me.     I'll  see  you  next  week." 

He  shook  hands  and  was  off,  stage-coach  and  all.  And  Mr. 
Cowslip  and  Winthrop  were  left  mounting  guard  over  the  bag- 
gage and  the  ladies.  Elizabeth  gave  a  comprehensive  glance  at 
the  "  young  gentleman  "  designated  by  her  father,  and  then  turned 
it  upon  the  black  leather  and  boards  which  waited  to  be  disposed 
of. 

"  You  won't  want  the  hull  o'  this  for  ballast,  I  guess,  Whv 
throp,  this  arternoon,"  remarked  Mr.  Cowslip.  "  You'll  have  to 
leave  some  of  it  'long  o'  me." 

"  Can't  it  all  go  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  It  would  be  too  much  for  the  boat,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  If  'twouldn't  for  you," — Mr.  Cowslip  remarked  in  a  kind  of 
aside. 

"  Isn't  there  another  boat  ?  " 

"  There  is  another  boat,"  said  Mr.  Cowslip — "  there's  min» 
— but  she's  up  stream  somewheres ;  comin'  along,  I  guess,  but  she 
won't  be  here  time  enough  for  your  purposes." 

It  was  necessary  to  make  a  selection.  The  selection  was 
made,  and  two  stout  trunks  were  successively  borne  down  to  the 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  77 

shore  by  the  hands  of  Winthrop  and  Mr.  Cowslip  and  stowed  in 
the  boat's  bow.  The  two  girls  had  walked  down  and  stood  look- 
ing on. 

"  But  I  haven't  got  any  books !  "  said  Elizabeth  suddenly 
when  she  was  invited  to  get  in  herself.  "  Won't  the  book-box 
go?" 

"  Is  it  that  'ere  big  board  box  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Cowslip. 
"  Won't  do  !     It's  as  heavy  as  all  the  nation." 

"  It  will  not  do  to  put  anything  more  in  the  boat,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

"  I  can't  go  without  books,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  You'll  have  'em  in  the  mornin',"  suggested  the  miller. 

"  0  leave  it,  Lizzie,  and  come  along  !  "  said  her  companion. 
H  See  how  late  it's  getting." 

"  I  can't  go  without  some  books,"  said  Elizabeth;  "  I  shouldn't 
know  what  to  do  with  myself.  You  are  sure  you  can't  take  the 
box?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Winthrop  smiling.  "  She  would  draw  too 
much  water,  with  this  tide." 

"  Yes,  you'd  be  on  the  bottom  and  no  mistake,  when  you  got 
in  the  bay,"  said  Mr.  Cowslip. 

Elizabeth  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Then  just  get  something  and  open  the  box  if  you  please," 
she  said,  indicating  her  command  to  Winthrop ;  "  and  I  will 
take  out  a  few,  till  I  get  the  rest." 

"  0  Lizzie  !  "  urged  her  companion, — "  let  the  books  wait !  " 

But  she  and  her  expostulation  got  no  sort  of  attention.  Miss 
Lizzie  walked  up  the  hill  again  to  await  the  unpacking  of  the  box. 
Miss  Cadwallader  straightened  herself  against  a  post.  While 
Mr.  Cowslip  and  Winthrop  went  to  the  store  for  a  hammer. 

"  She's  got  spunk  in  her,  ha'n't  she,  that  little  one  ?  "  said 
the  miller.  "  She's  a  likely  lookin'  little  gal,  too.  But  I  never 
seen  any  one  so  fierce  arter  books,  yet." 

Tools  were  soon  found,  in  Mr.  Cowslip's  store,  but  the  box  was 
strongly  put  together  and  the  opening  of  it  was  not  a  very  speedy 
business.  The  little  proprietor  looked  on  patiently.  When  it 
was  open,  Miss  Lizzie  was  not  very  easy  to  suit.  With  great 
coolness  she  stood  and  piled  up  book  after  book  on  the  uncovered 
portion  of  the  box,  till  she  had  got  at  those  she  wanted.  She 
pleased  herself  with  two  or  three,  and  then  the  others  were  care- 
fully put  back  again ;  and  she  stood  to  watch  the  fastening  up 
of  the  box  as  it  was  before. 

"  It  will  be  safe  here  ?  "  she  said  to  the  miller. 


78  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Safe  enough  !  "  he  answered.  "  There's  nobody  here'U  want 
to  p«y  open  these  here  books,  agin  this  night." 

"  And  will  the  other  things  be  safe  ?  "  said  Miss  Cadwallader, 
who  had  come  up  the  hill  again  in  despair.  The  miller  glanced 
at  her. 

"  Safe  as  your  hair  in  curl-papers.  You  can  be  comfortable. 
Now  then — " 

The  sun  was  not  far  from  the  mountain  tops,  when  at  last  Miss 
Lizzie  stood  again  at  the  water's  edge  with  her  volumes.  Miss 
Cadwallader  grumbled  a  little,  but  it  met  the  utmost  carelessness. 
The  tide  was  very  low ;  but  by  the  help  of  Winthrop  in  the  boat 
and  Mr.  Cowslip  on  the  muddy  steps,  the  young  ladies  were 
safely  passed  down  and  seated  in  the  stern-sheets,  not  without 
two  or  three  little  screams  on  the  part  of  Miss  Cadwallader. 
The  other,  quite  silent,  looked  a  Attle  strangely  at  the  water 
coming  within  three  or  four  inches  of  her  dress,  an  expression  of 
grave  timidity  becoming  her  dark  eye  much  better  than  the  look 
it  had  worn  a  few  minutes  before.  As  the  boat  lurched  a  little 
on  pushing  off,  the  colour  started  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  asked 
"  if  there  was  any  danger  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  Winthrop  said. 

Elizabeth  gave  another  look  at  the  very  self-possessed  calm 
face  of  her  boatman,  and  then  settled  herself  in  her  place  with  the 
unmistakable  air  of  a  mind  at  ease. 

The  boat  had  rounded  the  corner  of  the  wharf  and  fell  into 
its  upward  track,  owing  all  its  speed  now  to  the  rower's  good 
arm ;  for  a  very  strong  down  tide  was  running  against  them. 
They  crept  up,  close  under  the  shore,  the  oars  almost  touching 
the  rocks ;  but  always,  as  if  a  spirit  of  divination  were  in  her,  the 
little  boat  turned  its  head  from  the  threatened  danger,  edged  in 
and  out  of  the  mimic  bays  and  hollows  in  the  shores,  and  kept  its 
steady  onward  way.  The  scene  was  a  fairy-land  scene  now. 
Earth,  water,  and  air,  were  sparkling  with  freshness  and  light. 
The  sunlight  lay  joyously  in  the  nest  of  the  southern  mountains, 
and  looked  over  the  East,  and  smiled  on  the  heads  of  the  hills  in 
the  north ;  while  cool  shadows  began  to  walk  along  the  western 
shore.  Far  up,  a  broad  shoulder  of  the  mountain  stood  out  in 
bright  relief  under  the  sun's  pencil ;  then  lower  down,  the  same 
pencil  put  a  glory  round  the  heads  of  the  valley  cedars;  the  val- 
ley was  in  shadow.  Sharp  and  clear  shewed  sun-touched  points 
of  rock  on  the  east  shore,  in  glowing  colours ;  and  on  the  west  the 
hills  raised  huge  shadowy  sides  towards  the  sun,  whom  they 
threatened  they  would  hide  from  his  pensioners.     And  the  sun 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  79 

stood  on  the  mountain's  brow  and  blinked  at  the  world,  and  then 
dropped  down ;  and  the  West  had  it !  Not  yet,  but  soon. 

The  two  girls  were  not  unmindful  of  all  the  brightness  about 
them,  for  their  eyes  made  themselves  very  busy  with  it,  and  little 
low-toned  talks  were  held  which  now  and  then  let  a  word  escape, 
of  "  pretty !  " — and  "  lovely !  " — and  "  wouldn't  it  be  lovely  to 
have  a  little  boat  here  ? — I'll  ask  papa  !  " — 

'"  Is  it  hard  to  row  ?  "  asked  the  last  speaker  suddenly  of 
Winthrop. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  at  all,  wind  and  water  quiet." 

"  Aren't  they  quiet  to-night  ?  " 

"The  tide  is  running  down  very  strong.  Asahel,  trim  the 
boat." 

"  How  on  earth  can  such  a  child  do  anything  to  the  boat  ? ' 
said  Miss  Cadwallader.     "  What  do  you  want  done,  sir  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  said.    "  It  is  done." 

"  What  is  done  ?  "  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  wondering 
face  to  her  companion.  "  Oh  aren't  you  hungry  ?  "  she  added 
with  a  yawn.  "  I  am,  dreadfully.  I  hope  we  shall  get  a  good 
supper." 

"  Whereabouts  is  Mr.  Landholm's  house  ? "  said  Elizabeth 
presently.     Winthrop  lay  on  his  oars  to  point  it  out  to  her. 

"  That  f  "  she  said,  somewhat  expressively. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  go  straight  there  ?  "  inquired  her  com- 
panion.    "  You  are  going  directly  the  other  way." 

A  slight  fiction;  but  the  boat  had  turned  into  the  bay,  and 
was  following  the  curve  of  its  shores,  which  certainly  led  down 
deep  into  the  land  from  the  farmhouse  point. 

"  I  go  here  for  the  eddy." 

"  He  is  going  right,"  said  Asahel,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
thwart  next  to  the  ladies. 

"  Eddy  ?  "  said  Miss  Cadwallader,  with  a  blank  look  at  her 
cousin. 

"  What  is  an  eddy  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  The  return  water  from  a  point  the  tide  strikes  against." 

Elizabeth  eyed  the  water,  the  channel,  and  the  points,  and 
was  evidently  studying  the  matter  out. 

"  What  a  lovely  place  !  "  she  said. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  strawberries  are  ripe,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader. 
u  Little  boy,  are  there  any  strawberries  in  your  woods  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Asahel,"  said  the  '  little  boy '  gravely. 

"  Is  it  ?  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  know  it.  Are  there  any 
strawberries  in  the  woods  here  ?  " 


80  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Lots  of  'em,"  said  Asahel. 

"  Are  they  ripe  yet  ?  " 

u  I  haven't  seen  more  than  half  a  dozen,"  said  Asahel. 

"  They  are  just  beginning  in  the  sunny  spots,"  said  his  brothel 
smiling. 

"  And  do  you  have  anything  else  here  besides  strawberries  ?  " 

The  question  was  put  to  Asahel.  He  looked  a  little  blank. 
It  was  a  broad  one. 

"  Any  other  fruitf'  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Plenty,"  said  Asahel. 

"  What  %  "  said  Miss  Cadwallader  "  tell  us,  will  you ;  for  I've 
come  here  to  live  upon  wild  fruit." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Asahel  staring  a  little ; — "  there's  red  rasp- 
berries, and  black  raspberries,  and  low-bush  blackberries  and  high 
blackberries,  and  huckleberries,  and  bearberries,  and  cranberries ; 
besides  nuts,  and  apples.     I  guess  that  ain't  all." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  his  questioner.  "  That  will  do.  I  don't 
intend  to  stay  till  nut-time.  Oh  what  a  way  it  is  round  this 
bay  !  " 

"  I  wish  it  was  longer,"  said  Elizabeth. 

The  sun  had  left  all  the  earth  and  betaken  himself  to  the 
clouds ;  and  there  he  seemed  to  be  disporting  himself  with  all  the 
colours  of  his  palette.  There  were  half  a  dozen  at  a  time  flung  on 
his  vapoury  canvass,  and  those  were  changed  and  shaded,  and 
mixed  and  deepened, — till  the  eye  could  but  confess  there  was 
only  one  such  storehouse  of  glory.  And  when  the  painting  had 
faded,  and  the  soft  scattering  masses  were  left  to  their  natural 
grey,  here  a  little  silvered  and  there  a  little  reddened  yet, — the 
whole  West  was  still  lit  up  with  a  clear  white  radiance  that  shewed 
how  hardly  the  sun's  bright  track  could  be  forgotten. 

"  Are  we  here  ! "  said  Elizabeth  with  a  half  sigh,  as  the  boai 
touched  the  rocks. 

"  Yes,tobe  sure,"  said  her  cousin.  "  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  In  the  clouds ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  come  down  again." 

Mr.  Landholm  was  standing  on  the  rocks,  and  a  very  frank 
and  hearty  reception  he  gave  them.  With  him  they  walked  up  to 
the  house ;  Asahel  staid  behind  to  wait  till  Winthrop  had  made 
fast  the  boat. 

"  How  do  you  like  'em,  Governor  ?  "  whispered  the  little  boy 
crouching  upon  the  rocks  to  get  nearer  his  brother's  ear. 

"  How  do  I  like  'em  ?  "  said  Winthrop ; — "  I  can't  like  any- 
body upon  five  minutes'  notice." 

"  One  of  'em's  pretty,  ain't  she  ?  — the  one  with  the  light 
coloured  hair  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  81 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Winthrop,  tying  his  chain. 

"  I  guess  they  like  it  here  pretty  well,"  Asahel  went  on. 
"  Didn't  you  see  how  they  looked  at  everything  ?  " 

"No." 

"  They  looked  up,  and  they  looked  down,  and  on  one  side  and 
the  other  side ;  and  every  now  and  then  they  looked  at  you." 

"  And  what  did  you  look  at  ?  " 

"  I  looked  at  them, — some." 

"  Well,"  said  Winthrop  laughing,  "  don't  look  at  .hem  too 
much,  Asahel." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  wouldn't  want  to  do  anything  too  much,  would 
you  ?  " 

"  No.     But  what  would  be  too  much  ?  " 

"So  much  that  they  would  find  it  out." 

"  Well,  they  didn't  find  it  out  this  evening,"  said  Asahel. 

But  that  little  speech  went  home,  and  for  half  the  way  as  he 
walked  up  to  the  house  holding  Asahel's  hand,  there  was  some- 
thing like  bitterness  in  the  heart  of  the  elder  brother.  So  long, 
but  no  longer.  They  had  got  only  so  far  when  he  looked  down  at 
the  little  boy  beside  him  and  spoke  with  his  usual  calm  clearness 
of  tone,  entire  and  unchanged. 

"  Then  they  aren't  as  clear-sighted  as  I  am,  Asahel,  for  I  al- 
ways know  when  you  are  looking  at  me." 

"  Ah,  I  don't  believe  you  do ! "  said  Asahel  laughing  up  at 
him ;  "  I  very  often  look  at  you  when  you  don't  look  at  me." 

"  Don't  trust  to  that,"  said  Winthrop. 

There  was  in  the  little  boy's  laugh,  and  in  the  way  he  wagged 
his  brother's  hand  backwards  and  forwards,  a  happy  and  confident 
assurance  that  Winthrop  could  do  anything,  that  it  was  good  to 
do. 

Everybody  was  at  the  supper-table;  there  was  nothing  for 
Winthrop  then  to  do  but  to  take  his  place  ;  but  his  countenance 
to  his  mother,  all  supper-time,  was  worth  a  great  deal.  His  cool 
collected  face  at  her  side  heartened  her  constantly,  though  he 
scarcely  spoke  at  all.  Mr.  Landholm  played  the  part  of  host 
with  no  drawback  to  his  cheerfulness ;  talked  a  great  deal,  and 
pressed  all  the  good  things  of  the  table  upon  Miss  Cadwallader ; 
who  laughing,  talking,  and  eating,  managed  to  do  her  full  share  of  all 
three.  She  was  certainly  very  pretty.  Her  '  light-coloured  '  hair 
was  not  so  light  as  to  be  uncomely,  and  fell  in  luxuriant  ringlets 
all  round  the  sides  of  her  pretty  head ;  and  the  head  moved  about 
enough  to  shake  the  ringlets,  till  they  threatened  to  form  a  mazy 


82  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

not  to  catch  men's  eyes.  The  prettiest  mouth  in  the  world,  set 
with  two  little  rows  of  the  most  kissaKe  teeth,  if  that  feature 
ever  is  contemplated  in  a  kiss;  and  like  the  ringlets,  the  lips 
seemed  to  be  in  a  compact  to  do  as  much  mischief  as  they  could ; 
to  keep  together  and  mind  their  own  business  was  the  last  thing 
thought  of.  Yet  it  was  wonderful  how  much  business  they  man- 
aged to  transact  on  their  own  account,  too.  The  other  girl  sat 
grave  and  reserved,  even  almost  with  an  air  of  shyness,  eat  much 
less,  and  talked  none  at  all ;  and  indeed  her  face  was  pale  and 
thin,  and  justified  what  her  father  had  said  about  her  wanting  the 
country.  Rufus  seemed  to  have  got  back  his  good-humour.  He 
quite  kept  up  the  credit  of  his  side  of  the  table. 

Immediately  after  supper  the  two  girls  went  to  their  room. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  'em  ?  "  said  Mr.  Landholm.  "  Did  ye 
ever  see  a  prettier  creature,  now,  than  that  Rose  ?  Her  face 
is  like  a  rose  itself." 

"  It  is  more  like  a  peach-blossom,"  said  Rufus. 

"  The  little  one  don't  look  well,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm. 

H I  wonder  who'll  go  strawberrying  with  them,"  said  Asahel 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

Mau  "lie  is  of  a  rustical  cut,  I  know  not  how;  he  doth  nci  carry  himself  like  a  gen- 
tleman o.  fashion. 

Wei.  l  Dh,  Mr.  Matthew,  that's  a  grace  peculiar  hut  to  a  few." 

Eveey  Man  in  his  IIxnuotrR. 

The  t  big  bedroom,'  which  belonged  to  the  strangers  by  right 
of  usage,  opened  from  the  kitchen ;  with  another  door  npon  the 
tiny  entry-way  once  described.  It  had  a  fireplace,  at  present  full 
of  green  pine  bushes ;  a  very  clean  bed  covered  with  patchwork ; 
the  plainest  of  chairs  and  a  table ;  and  a  little  bit  of  carpet  on  one 
spot  of  the  floor ;  the  rest  was  painted.  One  little  window  looked 
to  the  south ;  another  to  the  east ;  the  woodwork,  of  doors  and 
windows,  exceeding  homely  and  impainted.  An  extraordinary 
gay  satin  toilet-cushion ;  and  over  it  a  little  looking-glass,  sur- 
rounded and  surmounted  with  more  than  an  equal  surface  of  dark 
carved  wooden  framing. 

It  was  to  this  unwonted  prospect  that  the  early  June  sun 
opened  the  young  ladies'  eyes  the  next  morning.  Elizabeth  had 
surveyed  it  quietly  a  few  minutes,  when  a  little  rustling  of  the 
patchwork  called  her  attention  to  the  shaking  shoulders  of  her 
companion.  Miss  Cadwallader's  pretty  face  lay  back  on  the  pil- 
low, her  eyes  shut  tight,  and  her  open  mouth  expressing  all  the 
ecstatic  delight  that  could  be  expressed  without  sound. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

Her  cousin  only  laughed  the  harder  and  clapped  ner  hands 
over  her  eyes,  as  if  quite  beyond  control  of  herself.  Elizabeth  did 
not  ask  again. 

"  Isn't  this  a  funny  place  we've  come  to  !  "  said  Miss  Cadwal* 
lader  at  last,  relapsing. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  very  laughable,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  But  isn't  it  a  quizzical  place  ?  " 


84:  THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  I  dare  say.     Every  place  is." 

"  Pshaw !  don't  be  obstinate, — when  you  think  just  as  I 
do." 

"  I  never  did  yet,  about  anything,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Well,  how  do  you.  like  eating  in  a  room  with  a  great  dresser 
of  tin  dishes  on  one  side  and  the  fire  where  your  meat  was  cooked 
on  the  other  ? — in  June  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  the  tin  dishes ;  and  there  wasn't  any  fire,  of  con- 
sequence." 

"  But  did  you  ever  see  such  a  gallant  old  farmer  ?  Isn't  he 
comical  ?  didn't  he  keep  it  up  ?  " 

"  Not  better  than  you  did,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  But  isn't  he  comical  ?  " 

"  No  ;  neither  comical  nor  old.  I  thought  you  seemed  to 
like  him  very  well." 

"  0,  one  must  do  something.  La  !  you  aren't  going  to  get  up 
yet  ?  " 

But  Elizabeth  was  already  at  the  south  window  and  had  it 
open.  Early  it  was ;  the  sun  not  more  than  half  an  hour  high,  and 
taking  his  work  coolly,  like  one  who  meant  to  do  a  great  deal  be- 
fore the  day  was  ended.  A  faint  dewy  sparkle  on  the  grass  and 
the  sweetbriars;  tha  song  sparrows  giving  good-morrow  to  each 
other  and  tuning  their  throats  for  the  day ;  and  a  few  wood 
thrushes  now  and  then  telling  of  their  shyer  and  rarer  neighbour- 
hood.    The  river  was  asleep,  it  seemed,  it  lay  so  still. 

"  Lizzie ! — you  ought  to  be  in  bed  yet  these  two  hours — I 
shall  tell  Mr.  Haye,  if  you  don't  take  care  of  yourself." 

u  Have  the  goodness  to  go  to  sleep,  and  let  me  and  Mr.  Haye 
take  care  of  each  other,"  said  the  girl  dryly. 

Her  cousin  looked  at  her  a  minute,  and  then  turning  her  eyes 
from  the  light,  obeyed  her  first  request  and  went  fast  asleep. 

A  little  while  aftar  the  door  opened  and  Elizabeth  stood  in 
the  kitchen.  It  was  already  in  beautiful  order.  She  could  sec 
the  big  dresser  now,  but  the  tin  and  crockery  and  almost  the 
wooden  shelves  shone,  they  were  so  clean.  And  they  shone  in  the 
light  of  an  opposite  fire ;  but  though  the  second  of  June,  the  aii 
so  early  in  the  morning  was  very  fresh ;  Elizabeth  found  it  pleas- 
ant to  take  her  stand  on  the  hearth,  near  the  warm  blaze.  And 
while  she  stood  there,  first  came  in  Karen  and  put  on  the  big  iron  tea- 
kettle ;  and  then  came  Mrs.  Landholm  with  a  table-cloth  and  be- 
gan to  set  the  table.  Elizabeth  looked  alternately  at  her  and  ai 
the  tea-kettle;  both  almost  equally  strange;  she  rather  took  a 
fancy  to  both.     Certainly  to  the  former.     Her  gown  was  spare, 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMIJC.  85 

shewing  that  means  were  so,  and  her  cap  was  the  plainest  of  mus- 
lin caps,  without  lace  or  bedecking ;  yet  in  the  quiet  ordering  of 
gown  and  cap  and  the  neat  hair,  a  quiet  and  ordered  mind  was 
almost  confessed ;  and  not  many  glances  at  the  calm  mouth  and 
grave  brow  and  thoughtful  eye,  would  make  the  opinion  good. 
It  was  a  very  comfortable  home  picture,  Elizabeth  thought,  in  a 
different  line  of  life  from  that  she  was  accustomed  to, — the  farm- 
er's wife  and  the  tea-kettle,  the  dresser  and  the  breakfast  table, 
and  the  wooden  kitchen  floor  and  the  stone  hearth.  She  did  not 
know  what  a  contrast  she  made  in  it ;  her  dainty  little  figure,  very 
nicely  dressed,  standing  on  the  flag-stones  before  the  fire.  Mrs. 
Landholm  felt  it,  and  doubted. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  place,  Miss  Haye  ?  "  she  ventured. 

To  her  surprise  the  answer  was  an  energetic,  "  Very  much." 

"  Then  you  are  not  afraid  of  living  in  a  farm-house  ?  5 

"  If  I  don't  like  living  in  it,  I'll  live  out  of  it,"  said  Elizabeth, 
returning  a  very  dignified  answer  to  Winthrop's  '  good-morning ' 
as  he  passed  through  the  kitchen. 

"  Are  you  going  down  to  Cowslip's  mill,  Governor  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Landholm. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  You  will  lose  your  breakfast." 

"  I  must  take  the  turn  of  the  tide.     Never  mind  breakfast." 

"  Going  down  after  my  trunks  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"Yes,  ma'am."- 

"  I'll  go  too.     Wait  a  minute  !  " 

And  she  was  in  her  room  before  a  word  could  be  said. 

"  But  Miss  Haye,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  as  she  came  out  with 
bonnet  and  shwl,  i  you  won't  go  without  your  breakfast  ?  It 
will  be  ready  long  before  you  can  get  back." 

"  Breakfast  can  wait." 

"  But  you  will  want  it." 

"  No— I  don't  care  if  I  do." 

And^down  she  ran  to  the  rocks,  followed  by  Asahel. 

There  was  a  singular  still  sweetness  in  the  early  summer 
morning  on  the  water.  The  air  seemed  to  have  twice  the  life  it  had 
the  evening  before  ;  the  light  was  fair,  beyond  words  to  tell.  Here 
its  fresh  gilding  was  upon  a  mountain  slope ;  there  it  stretched  in 
a  long  misty  beam  athwart  a  deep  valley;  it  touched  the  broken 
points  of  rock,  and  glanced  on  the  river,  and  seemed  to  make 
merry  with  the  birds ;  fresh,  gladsome  and  pure  as  their  song. 
No  token  of  man's  busy  life  yet  in  the  air ;  the  birds  had  it. 
Only  over  Shahweetah  valley,  and  from  Mr.  Underbill's  chimney 


86  THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  from  Sam  Doolittle's  in  the  bay, 
thin  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  slowly  went  up,  telling  that  there, — 
and  there, — and  there, — man  was  getting  ready  for  his  day's 
work,  and  woman  had  begun  hers !  Only  those,  and  the  soft  stroke 
of  Winthrop's  oars;  but  to  Elizabeth  that  seemed  only  play.  She 
sat  perfectly  still,  her  eye  varying  from  their  regular  dip  to  the 
sunny  rocks  of  the  headland,  to  the  coloured  mountain  heads,  the 
trees,  the  river,  the  curling  smoke, — and  back  again  to  the  oars ; 
with  a  grave,  intent,  deep  notice-taking.  The  water  was  neither 
for  nor  against  them  new ;  and  with  its  light  load  and  its  good  oars 
the  boat  flew.  Diver's  Rock  was  passed ;  then  they  got  out  of 
the  sunshine  into  the  cool  shadow  of  the  eastern  shore  below  the 
bay,  and  fell  down  the  river  fast  to  the  mill.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  by  anybody  till  they  got  there. 

Nor  then  by  Elizabeth,  till  she  saw  Mr.  Cowslip  and  Winthrop 
bringing  her  trunks  and  boxes  to  the  boat-side. 

"  Hollo !  you've  got  live  cargo  too,  Governor,"  said  the  old 
miller.     "  That  aint  fair, — Mornin' ! — The  box  is  safe." 

"  Are  you  going  to  put  those  things  in  here  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Sartain,"  said  Mr.  Cowslip  ; — "  book-box  and  all." 

"  But  they'll  be  too  much  for  the  boat  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Winthrop ;  "  it  was  only  because  the  tide 
was  so  low  last  night — there  wasn't  water  enough  in  the  bay.  I 
am  not  going  in  the  bay  this  morning." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Cowslip, — "  tide's  just  settin'  up  along  shore 
— you  can  kaep  along  the  edge  of  the  flats." 

"  You  have  load  enough  without  them.  Don't  put  'em  in 
here,  sir !  "  Elizabeth  exclaimed ; — "  let  them  go  in  the  other  boat 
— your  boat — you  said  you  had  a  boat — it's  at  home  now,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Sartain,r'  said  Mr.  Cowslip,  "  it's  to  hum,  so  it  can  start  off 
again  as  soon  as  you  like.  My  boy  Hild  can  fetch  up  the  things 
for  you — if  you  think  it's  worth  while  to  have  it  cost  you  a  dollar." 

"  I  don't  care  what  it  costs,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Send  'em  up 
right  away,  and  I'll  pay  for  it." 

So  Winthrop  dropped  into  his  place  again,  and  lightly  and 
swiftly  as  before  the  boat  went  on  her  way  back  towards  the  blue 
smoke  that  curled  up  over  Shahweetah;  and  Elizabeth's  eyes 
again  roved  silently  and  enjoy ingly  from  one  thing  to  another. 
But  they  returned  oftener  to  the  oars,  and  rested  there,  and  at 
last  when  they  were  about  half  way  home,  she  said, 

"  I  want  to  learn  how  to  manage  an  oar — will  you  let  me 
take  one  and  try  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  87 

Winthrop  helped  her  to  change  her  seat  and  put  an  oar  into 
her  hand,  and  gave  her  directions.  The  first  attempts  took  effect 
upon  nothing  but  Asahel's  face,  which  gave  witness  to  his  amuse- 
ment ;  and  perhaps  Winthrop's  dress,  which  was  largely  splashed 
in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes.  But  Elizabeth  did  not  seem  to 
heed  or  care  for  either ;  she  was  intent  upon  the  great  problem  of 
making  her  oar  feel  the  water ;  and  as  gravely,  if  not  quite  so 
coolly,  as  Winthrop's  instructions  were  delivered,  she  worked  at 
her  oar  to  follow  them.  A  few  random  strokes,  which  did  not 
seem  to  discriminate  very  justly  between  water  and  air,  and  then 
her  oar  had  got  hold  of  the  water  and  was  telling,  though  irregu- 
larly and  fitfully,  upon  the  boat.  The  difficulty  was  mastered ; 
and  she  pulled  with  might  and  main  for  half  the  rest  of  the 
way  home ;  Winthrop  having  nothing  to  do  with  his  one  oar 
but  to  keep  the  two  sides  of  the  boat  together,  till  her  arm 
was  tired. 

"  Next  time  I'll  take  both  oars,"  she  said  with  a  face  of  great 
satisfaction  as  she  put  herself  back  in  her  old  seat.  Asahel 
thought  it  would  cure  her  of  wearing  pale  cheeks,  but  he  did  not 
venture  to  make  any  remark. 

Eose  was  waiting  for  them,  sitting  crouched  discontentedly 
on  the  rocks. 

"  It's  eight  o'clock !  " — said  she, — "  and  I'm  as  hungry  as  a 
bear !  " 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Elizabeth  springing  ashore. 

"What  have  you  been  doing? — keeping  breakfast  waiting 
this  age  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  delicious  in  all  my  life,"  said 
Elizabeth  emphatically,  before  condescending  to  say  what. 

"I  shall  tell  Mr.  Have  you  are  beginning  a  flirtation  al- 
ready," whispered  Miss  Cadwallader  laughing  as  they  went  up  to 
the  house. 

But  the  cheek  of  the  other  at  that  became  like  a  thunder-cloud. 
She  turned  her  back  upon  her  cousin  and  walked  from  her  to  the 
house,  with  a  step  as  fine  and  firm  as  that  of  the  Belvidere  Apollo 
and  a  figure  like  a  young  pine  tree.  Bufus,  who  met  her  at  the 
door,  was  astounded  with  a  salutation  such  as  a  queen  might  bestow 
on  a  discarded  courtier ;  but  by  the  time  the  little  lady  came  to 
the  table  she  had  got  back  her  usual  air. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  boating  before  breakfast  ?  "  said  Mr  . 
Landholm. 

"  Very  much,"  Elizabeth  said. 

"  I  dont  like  it  very  much,"  said  he,  "  for  I  ought  to  have 


88  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC 

mowed  half  an  acre  by  this  time,  instead  of  being  here  at  mj 
bread  and  butter." 

"  It  was  not  my  fault,  sir." 

"  No,  no ;  it's  all  right,  I  am  glad  you  went.  I  should  have, 
taken  my  breakfast  and  been  off,  long  ago ;  but  I  waited  out  of 
pure  civility  to  you,  to  see  how  you  did.  'Pon  my  word,  I  think 
you  have  gained  half  a  pound  of  flesh  already." 

"  She  looks  a  great  deal  better,"  sail  Asahel. 

Elizabeth  laughed  a  little,  but  entered  into  no  discussion  of 
the  subject. 

After  breakfast  the  trunks  arrived  and  the  young  ladies 
were  busy;  and  two  or  three  days  passed  quietly  in  getting 
wonted. 

"  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader,  a  few  mornings  af- 
ter, "  will  you  do  one  thing  for  me  ?  " 

"  A  great  many,  Miss  Rose,"  he  said,  stopping  with  his  hands 
on  his  knees  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  table,  and  looking  at 
her  attentively. 

"  I  want  you  to  send  somebody  to  shew  me  where  the  straw- 
berries are." 

"  Strawberries !     Do  you  want  to  go  and  pick  strawberries  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.     That's  what  I  came  here  for." 

"  Strawberries,  eh,"  said  Mr.  Landholm.  "  Well,  I  guess 
you'll  have  to  wait  a  little.  There  aint  a  soul  that  can  go  with 
you  this  morning.  Besides,  I  don't  believe  there  are  any  ripe 
yet." 

"  0  yes  there  are,  papa !  "  said  Asahel. 

"  I  guess  Bright  Spot's  full  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Landhoim. 

"  Bright  Spot !  '  said  the  farmer.  "  Well,  ive  must  be  all  off 
to  the  hay-field.  You  see,  there's  some  grass,  Miss  Rose,  stand- 
ing ready  to  be  cut,  that  canH  wait ;  so  you'll  have  to." 

"  What  if  it  wasn't  cut  ?  "  said  Miss  Cadwallader  pouting. 

"  What  if  it  wasn't  cut ! — then  the  cattle  would  have  nothing 
to  eat  next  winter,  and  that  would  be  worse  than  your  wanting 
strawberries.  No — I'll  tell  you, — It'll  be  a  fine  afternoon ;  and 
you  keep  yourself  quiet,  out  of  the  sun,  till  it  gets  towards  even- 
ing ;  and  I'll  contrive  to  spare  one  of  the  boys  to  go  with  you 
The  strawberries  will  be  all  the  riper,  and  you  can  get  as  many 
as  you  want  in  an  hour  or  two." 

So  upon  that  the  party  scattered,  and  the  house  was  deserted 
to  the  '  women-folks ; '  with  the  exception  of  little  Asahel ;  and 
rven  he  was  despatched  in  a  few  hours  to  the  field  with  the  din- 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTTC.  89 

ner  of  his  father  and  brothers.  The  girls  betook  themselves  to 
their  room,  and  wore  out  the  long  day  as  they  could. 

It  grew  to  the  tempting  time  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Here  they  are !  "  said  Rose  who  sat  at  the  east  window. 
"  Now  for  it !  That  farmer  is  a  very  good  man.  I  really  didn't 
expect  it." 

"  They  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes — both  the  '  boys,'  as  the  farmer  calls  them." 

"  I  should  think  one  might  have  been  enough,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Well  there's  no  harm  in  having  two.  Isn't  the  eldest  one 
handsome  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  do  know." 

"  I  don't !  for  I  haven't  thought  about  it." 

"  Do  you  have  to  think  before  you  can  tell  whether  a  person 
is  handsome  ?  " 

"  Yes  ; — before  I  can  tell  whether  I  think  he  is." 

"  Well  look  at  him, — I  tell  you  he  has  the  most  splendid 
eyes." 

"  Rose  Cadwallader !  "  said  her  cousin  laying  down  her  book, 
"  what  is  it  to  you  or  me  if  all  the  farmer's  sons  in  the  land  have 
splendid  eyes?" 

Elizabeth's  eyebrows  said  it  was  very  little  to  her. 

"  I  like  to  look  at  a  handsome  face  anywhere,"  said  Rose 
pouting.     "  Come — will  you." 

Elizabeth  did  come,  but  with  a  very  uncompromising  set  of 
the  said  eyebrows. 

It  appeared  that  everybody  was  going  strawberrying,  except 
Mrs.  Landholm  and  Winthrop ;  at  least  the  former  had  not  her 
bonnet  on,  and  the  latter  was  not  in  the  company  at  all.  The 
children  found  this  out  and  raised  a  cry  of  dismay,  which  was 
changed  into  a  cry  of  entreaty  as  Winthrop  came  in.  Winthrop 
was  going  after  fish.  But  Winifred  got  hold  of  his  hand,  and 
Asahel  withstood  him  with  arguments ;  and  at  last  Mrs.  Land- 
holm  p\rt  in  her  gentle  word,  that  strawberries  would  do  just  as 
well  as  fish,  and  better.  So  Winthrop  put  up  his  fishing-rod  and 
shouldered  the  oars,  and  armed  with  baskets  of  all  sizes  the  whole 
party  trooped  after  him. 

In  the  boat  Elizabeth  might  have  had  a  good  opportunity  to  act 
upon  her  cousin's  request ;  for  Rufus  sat  in  the  stern  with  them  and 
talked,  while  Winthrop  handled  the  oars.  But  Rufas  and  her 
cousin  had  the  talk  all  to  themselves ;  Elizabeth  held  off  from  it, 
and  gave  her  eyes  to  nothing  but  the  river  and  the  hills. 


90  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEHUC. 

They  crossed  the  river,  going  a  little  up,  to  a  tiny  green  val- 
ley just  at  the  water's  edge.  Oh  every  side  but  the  river  it  was 
sheltered  and  shut  in  by  woody  walls  nigh  two  hundred  feet  in 
height.  The  bottom  of  the  valley  was  a  fine  greensward,  only 
sprinkled  with  trees ;  while  from  the  edge  of  it  the  virgin  forest 
rose  steeply  to  the  first  height,  and  then  following  the  broken 
ground  stretched  away  up  to  the  top  of  the  neighbouring  moun- 
tains. From  the  valley  bottom,  however,  nothing  of  these  could 
be  seen ;  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  its  own  leafy  walls  and  the 
blue  sky  above  them. 

"  Is  this  the  place  where  we  are  to  find  strawberries  ?  "  said 
Miss  Cadwallader. 

u  This  is  the  place,'-'  said  Bufus ;  "  this  is  Bright  Spot,  from 
time  out  of  mind  the  place  for  strawberries ;  nobody  ever  comes 
here  but  to  pick  them.     The  vines  cover  the  ground." 

"  The  sun  won't  be  on  it  long,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  I  don't  see 
why  you  call  it  Bright  Spot." 

"  You  won't  often  see  a  brighter  spot  when  the  sun  is  on  it," 
said  Winthrop.  "  It  gets  in  the  shadow  of  Wut-a-qut-o  once  in  a 
while." 

"  The  grass  is  kept  very  fresh  here,"  said  Bufus.  "  But  the 
strawberry  vines  are  all  over  in  it." 

So  it  was  proved.  The  valley  was  not  a  smooth  level  as  it 
had  looked  from  the  river,  but  broken  into  little  waves  and  hol- 
lows of  ground ;  in  parts,  near  the  woods,  a  good  deal  strewn  with 
loose  rocks  and  grown  with  low  clumpy  bushes  of  different  species 
of  cornus,  and  buckthorn,  and  sweetbriar.  In  these  nooks  and 
hollows,  and  indeed  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  ground  the 
vines  ran  thick,  and  the  berries,  huge,  rich  and  rare,  pretended  to 
hide  themselves,  while  the  whole  air  was  alive  with  their  sweet- 
ness. 

The  party  landed  and  scattered  with  cries  of  delight  far  and 
near  over  the  valley.  Even  Elizabeth's  composure  gave  way. 
For  a  little  while  they  did  nothing  but  scatter ;  to  sit  still  and 
pick  was  impossible ;  for  the  novelty  and  richness  of  the  store 
seemed  made  for  the  eye  as  much  as  for  anything  else,  and  be  the 
berries  never  so  red  in  one  place  they  seemed  redder  in  another. 
Winthrop  and  Asahel,  however,  were  soon  steadily  at  work,  and 
then  little  Winifred ,  and  after  a  time  Miss  Cadwallader  found  that 
the  berries  were  good  for  more  than  to  look  at,  and  Bufus  had 
less  trouble  to  keep  in  her  neighbourhood.  But  it  was  a  good 
while  before  Elizabeth  began  to  pick  either  for  lip  or  basket ; 
she  stood  on  the  viney  knolls,  and  looked,  and  smelled  the  air, 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  91 

and  searched  with  her  eye  the  openings  in  the  luxuriant  foliage 
that  walled  in  the  valley.  At  last,  making  a  review  of  the  living 
members  of  the  picture,  the  young  lady  bethought  herself,  and 
set  to  work  with  great  steadiness  to  cover  the  bottom  of  her 
basket. 

In  the  course  of  this  business,  moving  hither  and  thither  as 
the  bunches  of  red  fruit  tempted  her,  and  without  raising  an 
eye  beyond  them,  she  was  picking  close  to  one  of  the  parties  be- 
fore she  knew  whom  she  was  near ;  and  as  they  were  in  like  igno- 
rance she  heard  Asahel  say, 

"  I  wish  Rufus  would  pick — he  does  nothing  but  eat,  ever 
since  he  came ;  he  and  Miss  Rose." 

"  You  don't  expect  her  to  pick  for  you,  do  you  ? "  said 
Winthrop. 

"  She  might  *ust  as  well  as  for  me  to  pick  for  her,"  said 
Asahel. 

"  Do  you  think  we'll  get  enough  for  mamma,  Governor  ?  " 
said  little  Winifred  in  a  very  sweet,  and  a  little  anxious,  voice. 

"  We'll  try,"  said  her  brother. 

"  0  you've  got  a  great  parcel ! — but  I  have  only  so  many, — 
Governor  ?  " 

"  There's  more  where  those  came  from,  Winnie." 

"  Here  are  some  to  help,"  said  Elizabeth  coming  up  and 
emptying  her  own  strawberries  into  the  little  girl's  basket.  Wini- 
fred looked  down  at  the  fresh  supply  and  up  into  the  young  lady's 
face,  and  then  gave  her  an  "  Oh  thank  you !  "  of  such  frank 
pleasure  and  astonishment  that  Elizabeth's  energies  were  at  once 
nerved.  But  first  of  all  she  went  to  see  what  Miss  Cadwallader 
was  about. 

Miss  Cadwallader  was  squatting  in  a  nest  of  strawberries,  with 
red  finger-ends. 

"  Rose — how  many  have  you  picked  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea.     Aren't  they  splendid  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  any  in  your  basket  ?  " 

"  Basket  ? — no, — where  is  my  basket  ?  "  said  she  looking 
round.     "  No,  to  be  sure  I  haven't.     I  don't  want  any  basket." 

"Why  don't  you  help?" 

"  Help  ?  I've  been  helping  myself,  till  I'm  tired.  Come  here 
and  sit  down,  Bess.  Aren't  they  splendid  ?  Don't  you  want  to 
rest  ?  " 

"  No." 

Miss  Rose,  however,  quitted  the  strawberries  and  placed  her- 
self  on  a  rock. 


92  THE    HILLS     OF     THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  Where's  my  helper? — 0  yonder, — somebody's  got  hold  of 
him.  Lizzie, — who'd  have  thought  we  should  be  so  well  off  for 
beaux  here  in  the  mountains  ?  " 

The  other's  brow  and  lip  changed,  but  she  stood  silent. 

"  They  don't  act  like  farmer's  sons,  do  they  ?  I  never  should 
have  guessed  it  if  I  had  seen  them  anywhere  else.  Look,  Lizzie, 
— now  isn't  he  handsome  ?    I  never  saw  such  eyes." 

Elizabeth  did  not  look,  but  she  spoke,  and  the  words  lacked 
no  point  that  lips  could  give  them. 

"  I  am  thankful,  Rose,  that  my  head  does  not  run  upon  the 
things  that  yours  does  !  " 

"  What  does  yours  run  upon  then  ? "  said  Rose  pouting. 
"  The  other  one,  I  suppose.  That's  the  one  you  were  helping 
with  your  strawberries  just  now.  I  dont  think  it  is  the  wisest 
thing  Mr.  Haye  has  ever  done,  to  send  you  and  me  here  ; — it's  a 
-pity  there  wasn't  somebody  to  warn  him." 

"  Rose !  " — said  the  other,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  lighten,  one 
to  the  other,  as  she  spoke, — "  you  know  I  don't  like  such  talk — 
I  detest  and  despise  it ! — it  is  utterly  beneath  me.  You  may  in- 
dulge in  all  the  nonsense  you  please,  and  descend  to  what  you 
please ; — but  please  to  understand,  I  will  not  hear  it." 

Miss  Cadwallader's  eye  fairly  gave  way  under  the  lightning. 
Elizabeth's  words  were  delivered  with  an  intensity  that  kept  them 
quiet,  though  with  the  last  degree  of  clear  utterance ;  and  turn- 
ing, as  Rufus  came  up,  she  gave  him  a  glare  of  her  dark  brown 
eyes  that  astonished  him,  and  made  off  with  a  quick  step  to  a 
part  of  the  field  where  she  could  pick  strawberries  at  a  distance 
from  everybody.  She  picked  them  somehow  by  instinct ;  she 
did  not  know  what  she  was  doing ;  her  face  rivalled  their  red 
bunches,  and  she  picked  with  a  kind  of  fury.  That  being  the 
only  way  she  had  of  venting  her  indignation,  she  threw  it  into  her 
basket  along  with  the  strawberries.  She  hadn't  worked  so  hard 
the  whole  afternoon.  She  edged  away  from  the  rest  towards  a 
wild  corner,  where  amid  rocks  and  bushes  the  strawberry  vines 
spread  rich  and  rank  and  the  berries  were  larger  and  finer  than 
any  she  had  seen.  She  was  determined  to  have  a  fine  basket- 
ful for  Winifred. 

But  she  was  unused  to  such  stooping  and  steady  work,  and 
as  she  cooled  down  she  grew  very  tired.  She  was  in  a  rough 
grown  place  and  she  mounted  on  a  rock  and  stood  up  to  rest  her- 
self and  look. 

Pretty — pretty,  it  was.  It  was  almost  time  to  go  home,  for  the 
sun  was  out  of  their  strawberry  patch  and  the  woody  walls  were  a 


TIIE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  93 

few  shades  deeper  coloured  than  they  had  been ;  while  over  the 
river,  on  the  other  side,  the  steop  rocks  of  the  home  point  sent 
back  a  warm  glow  yet.  The  hills  beyond  them  stood  in  the  sun, 
and  in  close  contrast  was  the  little  deep  green  patch  of  fore- 
ground, lit  up  with  the  white  or  the  gay  dresses  of  the  strawberry 
pickers.  The  sweet  river,  a  bit  of  it,  in  the  middle  of  the 
picture,  half  in  sunshine,  half  in  shade.  It  was  like  a  little  nest 
of  fairy-land ;  so  laughed  the  sunshine  so  dwelt  the  shade,  in 
this  spot  and  in  that  one.  Elizabeth  stood  fast.  It  was  bewitch- 
ing to  the  eyes.  And  while  she  looked,  the  shadow  of  Wut-a-qut-o 
was  creeping  over  the  river,  and  now  ready  t )  take  off  the  warm 
browns  of  the  rocky  point. 

She  was  thinking  it  was  bewitching,  and  drinking  it  in,  when 
she  felt  two  hands  clasp  her  by  the  waist,  and  suddenly,  swiftly, 
without  a  word  of  warning,  she  was  swung  off,  clear  to  another 
rock  about  two  yards  distant,  and  there  set  down,  "  all  standing." 
In  bewildered  astonishment,  that  only  waited  to  become  indigna- 
tion, she  turned  to  see  whom  she  was  to  be  angry  with.  Nobody 
was  near  her  but  Winthrop,  and  he  had  disappeared  behind  the 
rock  on  which  she  had  just  been  standing.  Elizabeth  was  not 
precisely  in  a  mood  for  cool  judgment;  she  stood  like  an  of- 
fended brood-hen,  with  ruffled  feathers,  waiting  to  fly  at  the  first 
likely  offender.     The  rest  of  the  party  began  to  draw  near. 

"  Come  Lizzie,  we're  going  home,"  said  her  cousin. 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  am  not  ready." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing — only  I  am  not  ready." 

"  The  sun's  out  of  Bright  Spot  now,  Miss  Haye,"  said  Rufus. 
with  a  somewhat  mischievous  play  of  feature. 

Elizabeth  was  deaf. 

"  Winthrop  has  killed  a  rattlesnake !  "  exclaimed  Asahel  from 
the  rock; — "  Winthrop  has  killed  a  rattlesnake  1 " 

And  Winthrop  came  round  the  bushes  bringing  his  trophy ; 
a  large  snake  that  counted  nine  rattles.  They  all  pressed  round, 
as  near  as  they  dared,  to  look  and  admire ;  all  but  Elizabeth,  who 
stood  on  her  rock  and  did  not  stir. 

"  Where  was  it  ?  where  was  it  ?  " — 

"  When  I  first  saw  him,  he  was  curled  up  on  the  rock  very 
near  to  Miss  Haye,  but  he  slid  down  among  the  bushes  before  I 
could  catch  him.  We  must  take  care  when  we  come  here  now, 
for  the  mate  must  be  somewhere." 


94  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SIIATEMUC. 

"I'll  never  come  here  again,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader.  "  0 
come ! — let  us  go !  " 

"  Did  you  move  me  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  with  the  air  of  a  judge 
putting  a  query. 

Winthrop  looked  up,  and  answered  yes. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  move  myself?  " 

"I  would,"  said  Winthrop  calmly, — "if  I  could  have  got 
word  to  the  snake  to  keep  quiet." 

Elizabeth  did  not  know  precisely  what  to  say;  her  cousin 
was  looking  in  astonishment,  and  she  saw  the  corners  of  Rufus's 
mouth  twitching;  she  shut  her  lips  resolutely  and  followed  the 
party  to  the  boat. 

The  talking  and  laughing  was  general  among  them  on  the 
way  home,  with  all  but  her ;  she  was  thinking.  She  even  forgot 
her  strawberries  for  little  Winifred,  which  she  meant  to  have  given 
her  in  full  view  of  her  cousin.  She  held  her  basket  on  her  lap, 
and  looked  at  the  water  and  didn't  see  the  sunset. 

The  sun's  proper  setting  was  not  to  be  seen,  for  he  went  down 
far  behind  Wut-a-qut-o.  Wut-a-qut-o's  shade  was  all  over  the 
river  and  had  mounted  near  to  the  top  of  the  opposite  hills ;  but 
from  peak  to  peak  of  them  the  sunlight  glittered  still,  and  over- 
head the  sun  threw  down  broad  remembrancers  of  where  he  was 
and  where  he  had  been.  The  low  hills  in  the  distant  north  were 
all  in  sunlight;  as  the  little  boat  pulled  over  the  river  they 
were  lost  behind  the  point  of  Shahweetah,  and  the  last  ray  was 
gone  from  the  last  mountain  ridge  in  view.  Cool  shadows  and 
lights  were  over  the  land,  a  flood  of  beauty  overhead  in  the  sky. 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  they  had  been  very  success- 
ful ;  and  little  Winifred  openly  rejoiced  over  the  quantity  they 
had  brought  home  for  l  mother ' ;  but  still  Elizabeth  did  not  add 
her  store,  and  had  nothing  to  say.  When  they  got  to  the  landing- 
place,  she  would  stay  on  the  rocks  to  see  how  the  boat  was  made 
fast.  Winifred  ran  up  to  the  house  with  her  basket,  Miss  Cad- 
wallader went  to  get  ready  for  supper,  Rufus  followed  in  her 
steps.  Asahel  and  Elizabeth  stayed  in  the  sunset  glow  to  see 
Winthrop  finish  his  part  of  the  work ;  and  then  they  walked  up 
together.  Elizabeth  kept  her  position  on  one  side  of  the  oars, 
but  seemed  as  moody  as  ever,  till  they  were  about  half  way  from 
the  rocks ;  then  suddenly  she  looked  up  into  Winthrop's  face  and 
said, 

"  Thank  you.     I  ought  to  have  said  it  before." 

He  bowed  a  little  and  smiled,  in  a  way  that  set  Elizabeth  a 
thinking.     It  was  not  like  a  common  farmer's  boy.     It  spoke  him 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  95 

as  quiet  in  his  own  standing  as  she  was  in  hers ;  and  yet  he  cer- 
tainly had  come  home  that  day  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  with  his 
mower's  jacket  over  his  arm  ?     It  was  very  odd. 

"What  was  it  you  said  that  strawberry-place  was  in  the 
shadow  of  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Wut-a-qut-o  ?  " 

"What's  that?" 

"  The  big  mountain  over  there.  This  was  in  the  shadow  of  it 
a  little  while  ago." 

u  What  a  queer  name !     What  does  it  mean  ?•" 

"  It  is  Indian.  I  have  heard  that  it  means,  the  whole  name, 
— *  He  that  catches  the  clouds.'' " 

"That  is  beautiful!  — 

"  You  must  be  tremendously  strong,"  she  added  presently,  as 
if  not  satisfied  that  she  had  said  enough, — "  for  you  lifted  me  as 
if  I  had  been  no  more  than  a  featherweight." 

"  You  did  not  seem  much  more,"  he  said. 

"  Strong ! — "  said  Asahel — 

But  Elizabeth  escaped  from  Asahel's  exposition  of  the  subject, 
into  her  room. 

She  had  regained  her  good-humour,  and  everybody  at  the 
table  said  she  had  improved  fifty  per  cent,  since  her  coming  to 
Shahweetah.  Which  opinion  Mr.  Haye  confirmed  when  he  camt> 
a  day  or  two  afterward 


CHAPTER   X. 

Cam.  Be  advised. 

Flo.     I  am ;  and  by  my  fancy :  if  my  reason 
Will  thereto  be  obedient,  I  have  reason ; 
If  not,  my  senses,  better  pleased  with  madness, 
Do  bid  it  welcome.  Winter's  Talk, 

The  young  ladies'  summering  in  the  country  had  begun  with 
good  promise ;  there  was  no  danger  they  would  tire  of  it.  Mr. 
Haye  gave  it  as  his  judgment  that  his  daughter  had  come  to  the 
right  place ;  and  he  was  willing  to  spare  no  pains  to  keep  her  in 
the  same  mind.  He  brought  up  a  little  boat  with  him  the  next 
time  he  came,  and  a  delicate  pair  of  oars;  and  Elizabeth  took  to 
boating  with  great  zeal.  She  asked  for  very  little  teaching ;  she 
had  used  her  eyes,  and  now  she  patiently  exercised  her  arms,  till 
her  eyes  were  satisfied ;  and  after  that  the  "  Merry-go-round  "  had 
very  soon  earned  a  right  to  its  name.  Her  father  sent  her  a 
horse ;  and  near  every  morning  her  blue  habit  was  fluttering  along 
the  roads,  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  country  people  who  had 
never  seen  a  long  skirt  before.  And  every  afternoon,  as  soon  as 
the  sun  hid  himself  behind  the  great  western  mountain,  her  little 
white  boat  stole  out  from  the  rocks  and  coasted  about  under  the 
point  or  lay  in  the  bay,  wandering  through  sunshine  and  shade ; 
loitering  where  the  north  wind  blew  softly,  or  resting  with  poised 
oars  when  the  sun  was  sending  royal  messages  to  earth  via  the 
clouds.  On  horseback  or  in  the  boat, — Miss  Elizabeth  would  not 
take  exercise  in  so  common  a  way  as  walking, — she  did  honour  to 
the  nurture  of  the  fresh  air.  The  thin  cheek  rounded  out; 
and  sallow  and  pale  gave  place  to  the  clear  rich  colour  of 
health. 

Asahel  was  her  general  companion  in  the  boat.  Sometimes 
her  cousin  condescended  to  enjoy  a  sail  of  a  summer's  evening, 
but  for  the  most  part  Asahel  and  Elizabeth  went  alone.     Miss 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTTC.  97 

Cadwallader  would  neither  row  nor  ride,  and  was  very  apt  to 
eschew  walking,  unless  a  party  were  going  along. 

Over  her  books  Elizabeth  luxuriated  all  the  rest  of  the  time. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night.  The  labour  of  talking  she  left  to  her 
cousin,  who  took  to  it  kindly,  and  speedily  made  herself  very 
popular.  And  there  was  certainly  something  very  pleasant  in 
her  bright  smile,  always  ready,  and  in  her  lovely  face ;  and  some- 
thing pleasant  too  in  her  exceeding  dainty  and  pretty  manner  of 
dressing.  She  fascinated  the  children's  eyes,  and  if  truth  be 
told,  more  than  the  children.  She  seemed  to  have  a  universal 
spirit  of  good-humour.  She  never  was  so  fast  in  a  book  but  she 
would  leave  it  to  talk  to  the  old  or  play  with  the  young ;  and  her 
politeness  was  unfailing.  Elizabeth  gave  no  trouble,  but  she 
seemed  to  have  as  little  notion  of  giving  pleasure ;  except  to  her- 
self. That  she  did  perfectly  and  without  stop.  For  the  rest, 
half  the  time  she  hardly  seemed  to  know  what  was  going  on  with 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

So  the  summer  wore  on,  with  great  comfort  to  most  parties. 
Perhaps  Winthrop  was  an  exception.  He  had  given  comfort,  if 
he  had  not  found  it.  He  had  been  his  mother's  secret  stand-by ; 
he  had  been  her  fishmonger,  her  gamekeeper,  her  head  gardener, 
her  man-at-need  in  all  manner  of  occasions.  His  own  darling 
objects  meanwhile  were  laid  upon  the  shelf.  He  did  his  best. 
But  after  a  day's  work  in  the  harvest  field,  and  fishing  for  eels 
off  the  rocks  till  nine  o'clock  at  night,  what  time  was  there  for 
Virgil  or  Grceca  Minora  ?  Sometimes  he  must  draw  up  his  nets 
in  the  morning  before  he  went  to  the  field ;  and  the  fish  must  be 
cleaned  after  they  were  taken.  Sometimes  a  half  day  must  be 
spent  in  going  after  fruit.  And  whenever  the  farm  could  spare 
him  for  a  longer  time,  he  was  off  to  the  woods  with  his  gun ;  to 
fetch  home  rabbits  at  least,  if  no  other  game  was  to  be  had. 
But  all  the  while  his  own  ground  lay  waste.  To  whomsoever  the 
summer  was  good,  he  reckoned  it  a  fruitless  summer  to  him. 

In  the  multitude  of  their  enjoyments  of  out-door  things,  the 
girls  took  very  naturally  to  the  unwonted  ways  and  usages  of  the 
country  household.  The  farm  living  and  the  farm  hours  seemed 
to  have  no  disgust  for  them.  In  the  hot  weather  the  doors  often 
all  stood  open;  and  they  sat  in  the  keeping-room,  and  in  the 
kitchen,  and  in  their  own  room,  and  seemed  to  find  all  pleasant. 

So  one  night  Elizabeth  and  Mrs.  Landholm  were  alone  in  the 
kitchen.  It  was  a  cool  evening,  though  in  midsummer,  and  they 
had  gathered  round  the  kitchen  fire  as  being  the  most  agreeable 
place.     The  children  were  long  gone  to  bed ;  the  rest  of  the  family 

5 


98  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SnATEMUC. 

had  at  length  followed  them ;  Elizabeth  and  Mrs.  Landholm  alone 
kept  their  place.  The  one  was  darning  some  desperate-looking 
socks ;  the  other,  as  usual,  deep  in  a  book.  They  had  been  very 
still  and  busy  for  a  long  time ;  and  then  as  Elizabeth  looked  up 
for  a  moment  and  glanced  at  the  stocking-covered  hand  of  her 
neighbour,  Mrs.  Landholm  looked  up;  their  eyes  met.  Mrs. 
Landholm  smiled. 

"  Do  you  like  anything  so  well  as  reading,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world !  What  are  you  doing,  Mrs.  Land- 
holm ?  " 

"  Mending  some  of  the  boys'  socks,"  she  said  cheerfully  • 
"  farmers  are  hard  upon  their  feet." 

"Mending that?''''  said  Elizabeth,     "What  an  endless 

work ! " 

"  No,  not  endless,"  said  the  mother  quietly.  "  Thick  shoes 
and  a  great  deal  of  stepping  about,  make  pretty  hard  work  with 
stockings." 

"  But  Mrs.  Landholm ! — it  would  be  better  to  buy  new  ones, 
than  to  try  to  mend  such  holes." 

Mrs.  Landholm  smiled  again a  smile  of  grave  and  sweet 

life-wisdom. 

"  Did  it  ever  happen  to  you  to  want  anything  you  could  not 
have,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  No — never,"  said  Elizabeth  slowly. 

"  You  have  a  lesson  to  learn  yet." 

"  I  hope  I  sha'n't  learn  it,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  It  must  be  learned,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm  gently.  "  Life 
would  not  be  life  without  it.     It  is  not  a  bad  lesson  either." 

"  It  isn't  a  very  pleasant  one,  Mrs.  Landholm,"  said  Eliza- 
beth.    And  she  went  back  to  her  reading. 

"  You  don't  read  my  book,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  the  other  re- 
marked presently. 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

Mrs.  Landholm  looked  up  again,  and  the  look  caught  Eliza- 
beth's eye,  as  she  answered, 

"  The  Bible." 

"The  Bible! — no,  I  don't  read  it  much,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  Why,  Mrs.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  ? — I  hope  you  will  know  some  day  why," 
she  answered,  her  voice  a  little  changed. 

"  But  that  is  not  exactly  an  answer,  Mrs.  Landholm,"  said 
Elizabeth  with  some  curiosity. 

Mrs.  Landholm  dropped  her  hands  and  her  stocking  into  her 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  99 

lap,  and  looked  at  the  face  opposite  her.  It  was  an  honest  and 
intelligent  face,  very  innocent  in  its  ignorance  of  life  and  life- 
work. 

"  What  should  we  do  without  the  Bible  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Do  without  it !  Why  I  have  done  without  it  all  my  days, 
Mrs.  Landholm." 

11  You  are  mistaken  even  in  that,"  she  said ;  "  but  Miss 
Elizabeth,  do  you  think  you  have  lived  a  blameless  life  all  your 
life  till  now  ? — have  you  never  done  wrong  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  I  don't  think  that, — of  course  I  have,"  Elizabeth 
answered  gravely,  and  not  without  a  shade  of  displeasure  at  the 
question. 

"  Do  you  know  that  for  every  one  of  those  wrong  doings  your 
life  is  forfeit  ?  " 

"  Why  no !  " 

"  And  that  you  are  living  and  sitting  there  only  because 
Jesus  Christ  paid  his  blood  for  your  life  ? — Your  time  is  bought 
time ; — and  he  has  written  the  Bible  to  tell  you  what  to  do 
with  it." 

"  Am  I  not  to  do  what  I  like  with  my  own  time  ?  "  thought 
Elizabeth.  The  thought  was  exceeding  disagreeable;  but  be- 
fore she  or  anybody  had  spoken  again,  the  door  of  the  big 
bed-room  opened  gently,  and  Miss  Cadwallader's  pretty  face 
peeped  out. 

"  Are  they  all  gone  to  bed  ? — are  they  all  gone  to  bed  ?  "  she 
said ; — "  may  I  come,  Mrs  Landholm  ? — " 

She  wa3  in  her  dressing-gown,  and  tripping  across  the  floor 
with  the  prettiest  little  bare  feet  in  the  world,  she  took  a  chair  in 
the  corner  of  the  fireplace. 

"  They  got  so  cold,"  she  said, — "  I  thought  I  would  come  out 
and  warm  them.  How  cosy  and  delightful  you  do  look  here. 
Dear  Mrs.  Landholm,  do  stop  working.  What  are  you  talking 
about?" 

There  was  a  minute's  hesitation,  and  then  Elizabeth  said, 

"Of  reading  the  Bible." 

"  The  Bible !  oh  why  should  one  read  the  Bible  ?  "  she  said, 
huddling  herself  up  in  the  corner.     "  It's  very  tiresome  I  " 

"  Do  you  ever  read  it,  Miss  Hose  ?  " 

"  I  ? — no,  indeed  I  don't.  I  am  sorry,  I  dare  say  you  will 
think  me  very  wrong,  Mrs.  Landholm." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  it  is  tiresome  ?  " 

"01  know  it  is — I  have  read  it ;  and  one  hears  it  read,  you 
know;  but  I  never  want  to." 


100  TIIE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Her  words  grated,  perhaps  on  both  her  hearers ;  but  neither 
of  them  answered. 

"  There  was  a  man  once,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm,  "  who  read  it 
a  great  deal ;  and  he  said  that  it  was  sweeter  than  honey  and 
the  honey-comb." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"  Yon  may  read  about  him  if  you  wish  to,"  said  Mrs.  Land- 
holm. 

"  But  Mrs.  Landholm,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  do  you  think  it  is 
an  interesting  book  ?  " 

"Not  to  those  who  are  not  interested  in  the  things,  Miss 
Elizabeth." 

"  What  things  ?  " 

Mrs.  Landholm  paused  a  bit. 

"  A  friend  to  go  with  you  through  life's  journey — a  sure 
friend  and  a  strong  one;  a  home  ready  at  the  journey's  end; 
the  name  and  the  love  of  forgiven  children,  instead  of  the  banish- 
ment of  offenders ;  a  clean  heart  anol  a  right  spirit  in  place  of  this 
sickly  and  sin-stricken  nature  ! — a  Saviour  and  a  Father  instead 
of  a  Judge." 

It  was  impossible  to  forget  the  reddening  eyes  and  trembling 
lips  which  kept  the  words  company.  Elizabeth  found  her  own 
quivering  for  sympathy ;  why,  she  could  not  imagine.  But  there 
was  so  much  in  that  face, — of  patience  and  gladness,  of  strength 
and  weakness, — it  was  no  wonder  it  touched  her.  Mrs.  Land- 
holm's  eyes  fell  to  her  work  and  she  took  up  her  stocking  again 
and  went  on  darning ;  but  there  was  a  quick  motion  of  her  needle 
that  told  how  the  spirits  were  moving. 

Elizabeth  sat  still  and  did  not  look  at  her  book.  Miss  Cad- 
wallader  hugged  herself  in  her  wrapper  and  muttered  under  her 
breath  something  about  "  stupid." 

"  Are  your  feet  warm  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes." 

"Then  come!—" 

Within  their  own  room,  she  shut  the  door  and  without  speak- 
ing went  about  with  a  certain  quick  energy  which  she  accompanied 
with  more  than  her  usual  dignified  isolation. 

"  Who  are  you  angry  with  now  ?  "  said  her  cousin. 

"  Nobody." 

"  Yes  you  are,  you  are  angry  with  me." 

"  It  is  of  no  sort  of  use  to  be  angry  with  you." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  believe  you  could  not  be  wise  if  you  were  to  try/' 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  101 

"  I  think  it  is  my  place  to  be  angry  now,"  said  Miss  Hose ; 
giving  no  other  indication  of  it  however  than  a  very  slight  pout- 
ing of  her  under  lip.  "  And  all  because  I  said  t  stupid  ! '  Well  I 
don't  care — they  are  all  stupid — Rufus  was  as  stupid  this  after- 
noon as  he  could  be ;  and  there  is  no  need,  for  he  can  be  anything 
else.     He  was  as  stupid  as  he  could  be." 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  Rufus  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  stamp- 
ing slightly. 

"  Just  what  you  have  to  do  with  Winthrop — amuse  myself." 

"You  know  I  don't ! "  said  Elizabeth.  "  How  dare  you  say 
it !  I  do  not  choose  to  have  such  things  said  to  me.  You  know, 
if  that  was  all,  that  Winthrop  does  not  amuse  anybody — nobody 
ever  sees  him  from  meal-time  to  meal-time.  You  find  Rufus  very 
amusing,  and  he  can  talk  very  well,  considering ;  but  nobody 
knows  whether  the  other  one  can  be  amusing  for  he  never  tried, 
so  far  as  I  know." 

"  I  know,"  said  her  cousin ;  "  they  are  a  stupid  set,  all  of 
them." 

"  They  are  not  a  stupid  set,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  there  is  not 
a  stupid  one  of  them,  from  the  father  down.  They  are  anything 
but  stupid." 

"  What  does  Winthrop  do  with  himself?  Rufus  isn't  so 
busy." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  care. 
He  goes  for  eels,  I  think,  every  other  night.  He  has  been  after 
them  to-night.  He  is  always  after  birds  or  fish  or  rabbits,  when 
he  isn't  on  the  farm." 

"  I  wonder  what  people  find  so  much  to  do  on  a  farm.  I 
should  think  they  d  grow  stupid. — It  is  funny,"  said  Miss  Cad- 
wallader  as  she  got  into  bed,  "  how  people  in  the  country  always 
think  you  must  read  th  3  Bible." 

Elizabeth  lay  a  little  while  thinking  about  it  and  then  fell 
asleep.  She  had  slept,  by  the  mind's  unconscious  measurement,  a 
good  while,  when  she  awoke  again  It  startled  her  to  see  that  a 
light  came  flickering  through  the  cracks  of  her  door  from  the 
kitchen.  She  slipped  out  of  bed  and  softly  and  quickly  lifted  the 
latch.  But  it  was  not  the  house  on  fire.  The  light  came  from 
Mrs.  Landholm's  candle  dying  in  its  socket ;  beyond  the  candle, 
on  the  hearth,  was  the  mistress  of  the  house  on  her  knees.  Eliza- 
beth would  have  doubted  even  then  what  she  was  about,  but  for 
the  soft  whisper  of  words  which  came  to  her  ear.  She  shut  the 
door  as  softly  and  quickly  again,  and  got  into  bed  with  a  kind  of 
awe  upon  her.     She  had  certainly  heard  people  stand  up  in  the 


102  THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

pulpit  and  make  prayers,  and  it  seemed  suitable  that  other  people 
should  bend  upon  cushions  and  bow  heads  while  they  did  so ;  but 
that  in  a  common-roofed  house,  on  no  particular  occasion,  any- 
body should  kneel  down  to  pray  when  he  was  alone  and  for  his 
own  sake,  was  something  that  had  never  come  under  her  know- 
ledge; and  it  gave  her  a  disagreeable  sort  of  shock.  She  lay 
awake  and  watched  to  see  how  soon  Mrs.  Landholm's  light  would 
go  away ;  it  died,  the  faint  moonlight  stole  in  through  the  window 
unhindered ;  and  still  there  was  no  stir  in  the  next  room.  Eliza- 
beth watched  and  wondered ;  till  after  a  long  half  hour  she  heard 
a  light  step  in  the  kitchen  and  then  a  very  light  fall  of  the  latch. 
She  sprang  up  to  look  at  the  moon ;  it  had  but  little  risen ;  she 
calculated  the  time  of  its  rising  for  several  nights  back,  and 
made  up  her  mind  that  it  must  be  long  past  twelve.  And  this  a 
woman  who  was  tired  every  day  with  her  day's  work  and  had 
been  particularly  tired  to-night !  for  Elizabeth  had  noticed  it. 
It  made  her  uncomfortable.  Why  should  she  spend  her  tired 
minutes  in  praying,  after  the  whole  house  was  asleep  ?  and  why 
was  it  that  Elizabeth  could  not  set  her  down  as  a  fool  for  her 
pains  ?  And  on  the  contrary  there  grew  up  in  her  mind,  on  the 
instant,  a  respect  for  the  whole  family  that  wrapped  them  about 
like  a  halo. 

One  morning  when  Elizabeth  came  through  the  kitchen  to 
mount  her  horse,  Mrs.  Landholm  was  doing  some  fine  ironing. 
The  blue  habit  stopped  a  moment  by  the  ironing-table. 

"  How  dreadfully  busy  you  are,  Mrs.  Landholm." 

"  Kit  so  busy  that  I  shall  not  come  out  and  see  you  start," 
she  answered.     "  I  always  love  to  do  that." 

"  Winnie,"  said  Elizabeth  putting  a  bank  bill  into  the  little 
girl's  hand,  "  I  shall  make  you  my  messenger.  Will  you  give 
that  to  the  man  who  takes  care  of  my  horse,  for  I  never  see  him, 
and  tell  him  I  say  he  does  his  work  beautifully." 

Winifred  blushed  and  hesitated,  and  handing  the  note  back 
said  that  she  had  rather  not. 

"  Won't  you  give  it  to  him  !  " 

The  little  girl  coloured  still  more.     "  He  don't  want  it." 

"  Keep  your  money,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm ;  "  there 
is  no  necessity  for  your  giving  him  anything." 

a  But  why  shouldn't  I  give  it  to  him  if  I  like  it  ?  "  said  Eliza- 
beth in  great  wonderment. 

"  It  is  a  boy  that  works  for  my  father,  Miss  Haye,"  said  Win- 
throp  gravely ;  "  your  money  would  be  thrown  away  upon  him." 

"  Bat  in  this  he  works  for  me." 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUO.  103 

"  He  don't  know  that." 

"  If  he  don't — M  oney  isn't  thrown  away  upon  anybody,  that 
ever  I  heard  of,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  and  besides,  what  if  I  choose 
to  throw  it  away  ?  " 

"  You  can.  Only  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  would  be 
picked  up." 

"  You  think  he  wouldn't  take  it?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  likely." 

"  What  a  fool ! — Then  I  shall  send  away  my  horse  I "  said 
Elizabeth ;  "  for  either  he  must  be  under  obligation  to  me,  or  I  to 
him ;  and  I  don't  choose  the  latter." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  get  through  the  world  without  being  under 
obligation  to  anybody  ?  "  said  Winthrop  smiling. 

But  Elizabeth  had  turned,  and  marching  out  of  the  house  did 
not  make  any  reply. 

"  What's  the  objection  to  being  under  obligation,  Miss  Eliza- 
beth ?  "  said  Mrs.  Landholm.  Elizabeth  was  mounting  her  horse 
in  which  operation  Winthrop  assisted  her. 

"  It  don't  suit  me !  " 

"  Fortune's  suits  do  not  always  fit,"  said  Winthrop.  But 
then—" 

"  Then  what?"— 

"  She  never  alters  them." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  fired,  and  an  answer  was  on  her  lip,  but 
meeting  the  very  composed  face  of  the  last  speaker,  as  he  put  her 
foot  in  the  stirrup,  she  thought  better  of  it.  She  looked  at  him 
and  asked, 

"  What  if  one  does  not  choose  to  wear  them  ?  " 

"  Nothing  for  it  but  to  fight  Fortune,"  said  Winthrop  smiling ; 
— "  or  go  without  any.' 

"  I  wwld  rather  go  anyhow ! "  said  Elizabeth, — "  than  be 
obliged  to  anybody, — of  course  except  to  my  father." 

"  How  if  you  had  a  husband  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Landholm  with 
a  good-humoured  face 

It  was  a  turn  Elizabeth  did  not  like ;  she  did  not  answer 
Mrs.  Landholm  as  she  would  have  answered  her  cousin.  She 
hesitated. 

"  I  never  talk  about  that,  Mrs.  Landholm,"  she  said  a  little 
haughtily,  with  a  very  pretty  tinge  upon  her  cheek; — "I  would 
not  be  obliged  to  anybody  but  my  father; — never." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Landholm.    "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Don't  you  see,  Mrs.  Landholm, — the  person  under  obliga- 
tion is  always  the  inferior." 


104  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  I  never  felt  it  so,"  she  replied. 

Her  guest  could  not  feel,  what  her  son  did,  the  strong  con- 
trast they  made.  One  little  head  was  held  as  if  certainly  the 
neck  had  never  been  bowed  under  any  sort  of  pressure ;  the  other, 
in  its  meek  dignity,  spoke  the  mind  of  too  noble  a  level  to  be 
either  raised  or  lowered  by  an  accident. 

"  It  is  another  meaning  of  the  word,  mother,  from  that  you 
are  accustomed  to,"  Winthrop  said. 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him,  but  nothing  was  to  be  gained  from 
his  face. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  hand  me  my  ridir.g-whip," 
she  said  shortly. 

"  You  will  have  to  be  obliged  to  me  for  that,"  he  said  as  he 
picked  it  up. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth;  " but  I  pay  for  this  obligation  with  a 
1  thank  you ' ! " 

So  she  did,  and  with  a  bow  at  once  a  little  haughty  and  not  a 
little  graceful.  It  was  the  pure  grace  of  nature,  the  very  speak- 
ing of  her  mind  at  the  moment.  Turning  her  horse's  head  she 
trotted  off,  her  blue  habit  fluttering  and  her  little  head  carried 
very  gracefully  to  the  wind  and  her  horse's  motion.  They  stood 
and  looked  after  her. 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Landholm, — "  she  has  something  to 
learn.     There  is  good  in  her  too." 

"  Ay,"  said  her  son,  "  and  there  is  gold  in  the  earth ;  but  it 
wants  hands." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm, — "  if  she  only  fell  into  good 
hands — " 

It  might  have  been  tempting,  to  a  certain  class  of  minds,  to 
look  at  that  pretty  little  figure  flying  off  at  full  trot  in  all  the 
riot  of  self-guidance,  and  to  know  that  it  only  wanted  good  hands 
to  train  her  into  something  really  fine.  But  Mrs.  Landholm  went 
back  to  her  ironing,  and  Winthrop  to  drive  his  oxen  a  field. 

Elizabeth  trotted  till  she  had  left  them  out  of  sight;  and  then 
walked  her  horse  slowly  while  she  thought  what  had  been  meant 
by  that  queer  speech  of  Winthrop's.  Then  she  reminded  herself 
that  it  was  of  no  sort  of  consequence  what  had  been  meant  by  it, 
and  she  trotted  on  again. 

Asahel  as  usual  came  out  to  hold  her  bridle  when  she  re- 
turned. 

"  Asahel,  who  takes  care  of  my  horse  ?  "  she  said  as  she  was 
dismounting. 

"  Ain't  it  handsomely  done  ?  "  said  Asahel. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  105 

«  Yes,— -beautifully.     Who  does  it  ?  " 

"  It's  somebody  that  always  does  things  so,"  said  Asahel  orac- 
ularly, a  little  in  doubt  how  he  should  answer 

"  Well,  who  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  don't !     Who  is  it  ?  " 
-  « It's  Winthrop." 

«  Winthrop  !  " 

"  Yes.     He  does  it." 

Elizabeth's  cheeks  burnt. 

"  Where's  that  man  of  yours — why  don't  he  do  it  ?  " 

"  Sam  ? — 0  he  don't  know — I  guess  he  ain't  up  to  it." 

Asahel  led  away  the  horse,  and  Elizabeth  went  into  the  house, 
ready  to  cry  with  vexation.  But  it  was  not  generally  her  fashion 
to  vent  vexation  so. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  her  cousin.  "  What  adven- 
ture have  you  met  with  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  Well  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing — only  I  want  to  lay  my  whip  about  someboly's 
shoulders, — if  I  could  find  the  right  person." 

"  Well  'taint  me,"  said  Rose  shrinking.  "  Look  here — I've 
got  a  delicious  plan  in  my  head — I'm  going  to  make  them  take  us 
in  the  boat  round  the  bay,  after  huckleberries." 

"Absurd!" 

"  What's  absurd  ?  " 

"  That." 

"Why? 

"Who'll  take  you?" 

"  No  matter — somebody,  J.  don't  know  who ; — Rufus.  But 
you'll  go?" 

"  Indeed  I  won*t." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  best  reason  in  the  world.     I  don't  want  to." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  go — for  my  sake,  Lizzie." 

"  I  won't  do  it  for  anybody's  sake.  And  Hose — I  think  you 
take  a  great  deal  too  much  of  Rufus's  time.  I  don't  believe  he 
does  his  duty  on  the  farm,  and  he  can't,  if  you  will  call  upon  him 
so  much." 

"  He's  not  obliged  to  do  what  I  ask  him,"  said  Rose  pouting; 
"  and  I'm  not  geing  to  stay  here  if  I  can't  amuse  myself.     But 
come  ! — you'll  go  in  the  bay  after  huckleberries  ?  " 
5* 


106  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  I  stall  not  stir.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  go  with* 
out  me." 

Which  Rose  declared  was  very  disagreeable  of  her  cousin; 
and  she  even  shed  a  few  tears ;  but  a  rock  could  not  have  received 
them  with  more  stony  indifference,  and  they  were  soon  dried. 

The  huckleberry  expedition  was  agreed  upon  at  dinner,  Mr. 
Landholm  being,  as  he  always  was  when  he  could,  very  agreeable. 
In  the  mean  time  Winthrop  took  the  boat  and  went  out  on  the  bay 
to  catch  some  fish. 

It  was  near  the  time  for  him  to  be  back  again,  and  the 
whole  party  were  gathered  in  the  keeping-room  and  in  the  door- 
way ;  Elizabeth  and  Mrs.  Landholm  with  their  respective  books 
and  work,  the  others,  children  and  all,  rather  on  the  expecting 
order  and  not  doing  much  of  any  thing ;  when  a  quick  springy 
footstep  came  round  the  house  corner.  Not  Winthrop's,  they  all 
knew ;  his  step  was  slower  and  more  firm ;  and  Winthrop's  fea- 
tures were  very  little  like  the  round  good-humoured  handsome 
face  which  presented  itself  at  the  front  door. 

"  Mr.  Herder  !  "  cried  the  children.  But  Rose  was  first  in 
his  way. 

"Miss  Cadval-lader ! "  said  the  gentleman, — "I  did  not  expect 
— Mrs.  Landholm,  how  do  you  do? — Miss  fslisabet'  I  did  not 
look  for  this  pleasure.  Who  would  have  expect'  to  see  you 
here !  " 

"  Nobody  I  suppose,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Isn't  it  pleasant,  Mr. 
Herder?" 

There  was  a  great  laughing  and  shaking  of  hands  between 
them ;  and  then  Mr.  Herder  went  again  to  Mrs.  Landholm,  and 
gave  the  children  his  cordial  greeting.  And  was  made  to  know 
Rufus. 

"  But  where  is  Wint'rop  ?  "  said  Mr.  Herder,  after  they  had 
done  a  great  deal  of  talking  in  ten  minutes. 

"Winthrop  is  gone  a  fishing.     We  expect  him  home  soon." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Tell  me  where  he  is  gone  and  I  will  go  after 
him  and  bring  him  back.  I  know  de  country.  I  did  not  come 
to  see  you,  Miss  Elisabet' — I  have  come  to  see  my  friend  Wint'rop. 
And  I  do  not  want  to  stay  in  de  house,  never,  while  it  is  so 
jleasant  wizout." 

"  But  we  are  going  in  the  bay  after  huckleberries,"  said  Rose, 
—"won't  you  go  with  us,  Mr.  Herder?" 

"  After  huckle-berry 1  do  not  know  what  is  that — yes,  I 

will  go  wiz  you,  and  I  will  go  find  Wint'rop  and  bring  him  home 
to  go  too." 

"  He  is  out  on  the  bay,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  I'll  take  you  to  him 


THE    HILLS    OF    TILE    SHATEMDC.  107 

m  my  boat.     Come  Mr.  Herder, — I  don't  want  you,  Rose ;  I'll 
take  nobody  but  Mr.  Herder ; — we'll  go  after  him." 

Bhe  ran  for  her  bonnet,  seized  her  oars,  and  drew  Mr.  Herder 
with  her  down  to  the  rocks. 

It  was  a  soft  grey  day ;  pleasant  boating  at  that  or  at  any 
hour,  ihe  sun  was  so  obscured  with  light  clouds.  Elizabeth 
seated  Mr.  Herder  in  the  stern  of  the  '  Merry-go-round,'  and 
pulled  <3ut  lightly  into  the  bay ;  he  very  much  amused  with  her 
water-craft. 

They  presently  caught  sight  of  the  other  boat,  moored  a  little 
distance  out  from  the  land,  behind  a  point, 

"  There  he  is !  " —  said  Mr.  Herder.     "  But  what  is  he  doing  ? 

He  is  nou  fishing.     Row  your  boat  soft,  Miss  Elisabet' hush ! 

—do  not  speak  wiz  your — what  is  it  you  call  ? — We  will  catch 
him — we  have  the  wind — unless  he  be  like  a  wild  duck — — " 

Winthrop's  boat  lay  still  upon  the  sleepy  water, — his  fishing  rod 
dipped  its  end  lazily  in, — the  cork  floated  at  rest ;  and  the  fisher 
seated  in  his  boat,  was  giving  his  whole  attention  seemingly  to 
something  in  his  boat.  Very  softly  and  pretty  skilfully  they 
stole  up. 

He  had  something  of  the  wild  duck  about  him ;  for  before 
they  could  get  more  than  near  at  hand,  he  had  looked  up,  looked 
round,  and  risen  to  greet  them.  By  his  help  the  boats  were  laid 
close  alongside  of  each  other;  and  while  Winthrop  and  Mr. 
Herder  were  shaking  hands  across  them,  Elizabeth  quietly  leaned 
over  into  the  stern  of  the  fishing-boat  and  took  up  one  or  two 
books  which  lay  there.  The  first  proved  to  be  an  ill-bound,  ill 
printed,  Greek  and  Latin  dictionary ;  the  other  was  a  Homer ! 
Elizabeth  laid  them  down  again  greatly  amazed,  and  wondering 
what  kind  of  people  she  had  got  among. 

"  What  brings  you  here  now,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 
"  Have  you  come  to  look  after  the  American  Eagle  ?  " 

u  Ha ! — no — I  have  not  come  to  look  after  no  eagle ; and 

yet  I  do  not  know — I  have  come  to  see  you,  and  I  do  not  know 
what  you  will  turn  to  be — the  eagle  flies  high,  you  know." 

Winthrop  was  preparing  to  tie  the  two  boats  together,  and 
did  not  answer.  Mr.  Herder  stepped  from  the  one  he  was  in  and 
took  a  seat  in  Winthrop's.  Elizabeth  would  not  leave  her  own, 
though  she  permitted  Winthrop  to  attach  it  to  his  and  to  do  the 
rowing  for  both ;  she  sat  afar  off  among  her  cushions,  alone. 

"  I  am  not  very  gallant,  Miss  Elisabet',"  said  the  naturalist ; 
"  but  if  you  will  not  come,  I  will  not  come  back  to  you.  I  did 
not  come  to  see  you  this  time — I  want  to  speak  to  this  young 
American  Eagle." 


108  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

And  he  settled  himself  comfortably  with  his  back  to  Eliza 
beth,  and  turned  to  talk  to  "Winthrop,  as  answering  to  his  strong 
arm  the  two  boats  began  to  fly  over  the  water. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I  have  stopped  here  just  to  see  you. 
You  have  not  change  your  mind,  I  hope,  about  going  to  de  Uni- 
versite ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  Goot.  In  de  Universite  where  I  am,  there  is  a  foundation 
— I  mean  by  that,  the  College  has  monies,  that  she  is  in  right  to 
spend  to  help  those  students  that  are  not  quite  rich  enough — 
if  they  have  a  leetle,  she  gives  them  a  leetle  more,  till  they  can 
get  through  and  come  out  wiz  their  studies.  This  Universite 
has  a  foundation ;  and  it  is  full ;  but  the  President  is  my  friend, 
and  he  knows  that  I  have  a  friend ;  and  he  said  to  me  that  he 
would  make  room  for  one  more,  though  we  are  very  full,  and 
take  you  in ;  so  that  it  will  cost  you  very  little.  I  speak  that, 
for  I  know  that  you  could  not  wish  to  spend  so  much  as  some." 

It  was  a  golden  chance — if  it  could  but  be  given  to  Kufus ! 
That  was  not  possible ;  and  still  less  was  it  possible  that  Winthrop 
should  take  it  and  so  make  his  brother's  case  hopeless,  by  swallow- 
ing up  all  the  little  means  that  of  right  must  go  to  set  him  for- 
ward first.  There  was  a  strong  heaving  of  motives  against  each 
other  in  Winthrop's  bosom.  But  his  face  did  not  shew  it ;  there 
was  no  change  in  his  cool  grey  eye ;  after  a  minute's  hesitation 
he  answered,  lying  on  his  oars, 

"  I  thank  you  very  much  Mr.  Herder — I  would  do  it  gladly 
— but  I  am  so  tied  at  home  that  it  is  impossible.     I  cannot  go." 

"  You  can  not  ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 

u  I  cannot — not  at  present — my  duty  keeps  me  at  home. 
You  will  see  me  in  Mannahatta  by  and  by,"  he  added  with  a  faint 
smile  and  beginning  to  row  again ; — "  but  I  don't  know  when." 

"  I  wish  it  would  be  soon,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  I  should 
like  to  have  you  there  wiz  me.  But  you  must  not  give  up  for 
difficulties.     You  must  come  ?  " 

"  I  shall  come,"    said  Winthrop. 

"  How  would  you  like  this?  "  said  Mr.  Herder  after  ponder- 
ing a  little.  "  I  have  a  friend  who  is  an  excellent — what  you 
call  him  ? — bookseller — Would  you  like  a  place  wiz  him,  to  keep 
his  books  and  attend  to  his  busmess,  for  a  while,  and  so  get  up 
by  degrees  ?  I  could  get  you  a  place  wiz  him." 

"No  sir,"  said  Winthrop  smiling; — "the  eagle  never  begins 
by  being  something  else." 

"  Dat  is  true,"  said  the  naturalist.     "  Well — I  wish  I  could  do 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  109 

you  some  gootj  but  you  will  not  let  me ; — and  I  trust  you  that 
you  are  right." 

"  You  are  a  good  friend,  sir,"  said  Winthrop  gratefully. 

"Well — I  mean  to  be,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his  good- 
humoured  head. 

Elizabeth  was  too  far  off  to  hear  any  of  this  dialogue ;  and 
she  was  a  little  astonished  again  when  they  reached  the  land  to 
see  her  boatman  grasp  her  friend's  hand  and  give  it  a  very  hearty 
shake. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  sir,"  she  heard  Winthrop  say. 

"  I  do  not  wish  that,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  What  for  should 
you  remember  it  ?  it  is  good  for  nozing." 

"  Is  that  boy  studying  Latin  and  Greek  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  as 
she  and  Mr.  Herder  walked  up  to  the  house  together. 

"  That  boy  ?     That  boy  is  a  very  smart  boy." 

"  But  is  he  studying  Greek  ?  " 

"  What  makes  you  ask  so  ?  " 

"  Because  there  was  a  Greek  book  and  a  dictionary  there  in 
the  boat  with  him." 

"  Then  I  suppose  he  is  studying  it,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 

Elizabeth  changed  her  mind  and  agreed  to  go  with  the  huckle- 
berry party ;  but  she  carried  a  book  with  her  and  sat  in  a  corner 
with  it,  seldom  giving  her  eyes  to  anything  beside. 

Yet  there  was  enough  on  every  hand  to  call  them  away.  The 
soft  grey  sky  and  grey  water,  the  deep  heavy-green  foliage  of  the 
banks,  and  the  fine  quiet  outlines  of  the  further  mountains,  set  off 
by  no  brilliant  points  of  light  and  shade, — made  a  picture  rare  in 
its  kind  of  beauty.  Its  colouring  was  not  the  cold  grey  of  the  au- 
tumn, only  a  soft  mellow  chastening  of  summer's  gorgeousness. 
A  little  ripple  on  the  water, — a  little  fleckiness  in  the  cloud, — a 
quiet  air ;  it  was  one  of  summer's  choice  days,  when  she  escapes 
from  the  sun's  fierce  watch  and  sits  down  to  rest  herself.  But 
Elizabeth's  eyes,  if  they  wavered  at  all,  were  called  off  by  some 
burst  of  the  noisy  sociability  of  the  party,  in  which  she  deigned 
not  to  share.  Her  cousin,  Mr.  Herder,  Rufus,  Asahel,  and 
Winifred,  were  in  full  cry  after  pleasure ;  and  a  cheery  hunt  they 
made  of  it.  :- 

"  Miss  Elisabet'  does  look  grave  at  us,"  said  the  naturalist, 
"  she  is  the  only  one  wise  of  us  all ;  she  does  nothing  but  read 
What  are  you  reading,  Miss  Elisabet'  ?  " 

"  Something  you  don't  know,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  O  it's  only  a  novel,"  said  her  cousin;  "  she  reads  nothing 
but  novels." 


110  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SH^TEMUC. 

"  That's  not  true,  Rose  Cadwallader,  and  you  know  it." 

"  A  novel !  "  said  Mr.  Herder.  "  Ah  ! — yes — that  is  what 
the  ladies  read — they  do  not  trouble  themselves  wiz  ugly  big  dic- 
tionaries— they  have  easy  times." 

He  did  not  mean  any  reproof;  but  Elizabeth's  cheek  coloured 
exceedingly  and  for  several  minutes  kept  its  glow ;  and  though 
her  eyes  still  held  to  the  book,  her  mind  had  lost  it. 

The  boat  coasted  along  the  shore,  down  to  the  bsad  of  the  bay, 
where  the  huckleberry  region  began ;  and  then  drew  as  close  in 
to  the  bank  as  possible.  No  more  was  necessary  to  get  at  the 
fruit,  for  the  bushes  grew  down  tc  the  very  water's  edge  and  hung 
over,  black  with  berries,  though  as  Asahel  remarked,  a  great 
many  of  them  were  blue.  Everybody  had  baskets,  and  now  the 
fun  was  to  hold  the  baskets  under  and  fill  them  from  the  over- 
hanging bunches  as  fast  as  they  could ;  though  in  the  case  of  one 
or  two  of  the  party  the  more  summary  way  of  carrying  the  bushes 
off  bodily  seemed  to  be  preferred. 

"  And  this  is  huckle-berry,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  with  a  bush  in 
his  hand  and  a  berry  in  his  mouth.  "  Well — it  is  sweet — a  little ; 
— it  is  not  goot  for  much." 

"  Why  Mr.  Herder  !  "  said  Rose ; — "  They  make  excellent 
pies,  and  Mrs.  Landholm  has  promised  to  make  us  some,  if  we 
get  enough." 

"  Pies !  "  said  the  naturalist, — "  let  us  get  a  great  many  huckle- 
berry then — but  I  am  very  sorry  I  shall  not  be  here  to  eat  the 
pies  wiz  you.  Pull  us  a  little,  Wint'rop — we  have  picked  every- 
thing.    Stop  ! — I  see, — I  will  get  you  some  pies  ! — " 

He  jumped  from  the  boat  and  away  he  went  up  the  bank, 
through  a  thick  growth  of  young  wood  and  undergrowth  of  alder 
and  dogwood  and  bucktho:*n  and  maple  and  huckleberry  bushes. 
He  scrambled  on  up  hill,  and  in  a  little  while  came  down  again 
with  a  load  of  fruity  branches,  which  he  threw  into  the  boat. 
While  the  others  were  gathering  them  up,  he  stood  still  near  the 
edge  of  the  water,  looking  abroad  over  the  scene.  The  whole 
little  bay,  with  its  high  green  border,  the  further  river-channel 
with  Diver's  Rock  setting  out  into  it,  and  above,  below,  and  over 
against  him  the  high  broken  horizon  line  of  the  mountains  ;  the 
flecked  grey  cloud  and  the  ripply  grey  water. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  place  !  "  said  the  naturalist.  "  I  have  seen 
2lo  s^sh  pretty  place  in  America.  I  should  love  to  live  here.  I 
should  be  a  happy  man  ! — But  one  does  not  live  for  to  be  happy," 
he  said  with  half  a  sigh. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMlTC.  Ill 

"One  doesn't  live  to  be  happy,  Mr.  Herder ! "  said  Elizabeth. 
*  What  docs  one  live  for,  then  ?  lam  sure  /  live  to  be  happy." 

"  And  I  am  sure  I  do,"  said  Rose. 

"  Ah,  yes — you, — you  may,"  said  the  naturalist  good-humour- 
edly. 

"  When  happiness  can  be  found  so  near  the  surface,"  said 
Rufus  with  a  satiric  glance  at  the  cover  of  Elizabeth's  book, — 
"  it  would  be  folly  to  go  further." 

"  What  do  you  live  for,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  giving 
Rufus's  words  a  cool  go-by. 

"  I  ? — O  I  live  to  do  my  work,"  said  the  naturalist. 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  live  to  find  out  the  truth — to  get  at  de  truth.  It  is  for 
that  I  spend  my  days  and  my  nights.  I  have  found  out  some — 
I  will  find  out  more." 

"  And  what  is  the  purpose  of  finding  out  this  Jmth,  Mr.  Her 
der  ?  "  said  Rufus ;— "  what  is  that  for  ?  doesn't  that  make  you 
happy?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  naturalist  with  a  serious  air, — "  it  does  not 
make  me  happy.  I  must  find  it  out — since  it  is  there — and  I 
could  not  be  happy  if  I  did  not  find  it ; — but  if  dere  was  no 
truth  to  be  found,  I  could  make  myself  more  happy  in  some  ozer 
wa"y." 

The  fine  corners  of  the  young  man's  mouth  shewed  that  he 
thought  Mr.  Herder  was  a  little  confused  in  his  philosophy. 

"  You  think  one  ought  to  live  to  be  happy,  don't  you,  Mr. 
Rufus  ?  "  said  Miss  Rose. 

"  No  !  "  said  Rufus,  with  a  fire  in  his  eye  and  lip,  and  making 
at  the  sams  time  an  energetic  effort  after  a  difficult  branch  of 
huckleberries, — "  no  ! — not  in  the  ordinary  way !  " 

"  In  what  way  then  ?  "  said  the  young  lady  with  her  favourite 
pout. 

"  He  has  just  shewed  you,  Miss  Rose,"  said  Winthrop ; — "  in 
getting  the  highest  huckleberry  bush.  It  don't  make  him  happy 
— only  he  had  rather  have  that  than  another." 

"  Let  us  have  your  sense  of  the  matter,  then,"  said  his  brother. 

"  But  Mr.  Herder,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  why  do  you  want  to  find 
out  truth  ? — what  is  it  for  ?  " 

"  For  science — for  knowledge  ; — that  is  what  will  do  goot  to 
the  world  and  make  ozer  happy.  It  is  not  to  live  like  a  man  to 
live  for  himself." 

"  Then  what  should  one  live  for,"  said  Elizabeth  a  little  im- 
patiently,— "  if  it  isn't  to  be  happy  ?  " 


112  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  I  would  rather  not  live  at  all,"  said  Rose,  her  pretty  lips 
black  with  huckleberries,  which  indeed  was  the  case  with  the 
whole  party. 

"  You  yourself,  Mr.  Herder,  that  is  your  happiness — to  find 
out  truth,  as  you  say — to  advance  science  and  learning  and  do 
good  to  other  people ;  you  find  your  own  pleasure  in  it." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Herder,"  chimed  in  Rose, — "  don't  you  love  flowers 
and  stones  and  birds  and  fishes,  and  beetles,  and  animals — don't 
you  love  them  as  much  as  we  do  dogs  and  horses  ? — don't  you 
love  that  little  black  monkey  you  shewed  us  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Rose,"  said  the  naturalist, — "  no,  I  do  not  love 
them — I  do  not  care  for  them ; — I  love  what  is  back  of  those 
things;  dat  is  what  I  want." 

"  And  that  is  your  pleasure,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  puzzled  naturalist, — "  maybe  it 
is — if  I  could  speak  German,  I  would  tell  you ; — Wint'rop,  you 
do  say  nozing ;  and  you  are  not  eating  huckleberries  neizer ; — 
what  do  you  live  for  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  cross-purposes  with  life,  just  now,  sir." 

"  Cross  ?  " — said  the  naturalist. 

"  Winthrop  is  never  cross,"  responded  Asahel  from  behind  a 
thick  branch  of  huckleberry. 

"  Dat  is  to  the  point !  "  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  Well,  speak  to  the  point,"  said  Rufus. 

"  I  think  the  point  is  now — or  will  be  presently — to  get  home." 

"  But  to  the  first  point — what  should  a  man  live  for  ?  " 

"  It's  against  the  law  to  commit  suicide." 

"  Pish  !  "  said  Rufus. 

"  Come  tell  us  what  you  think,  Wint'rop,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"I  think,  sir,  I  should  live  to  be  happy." 

"  You  do  !  "  said  the  naturalist. 

"  And  I  think  happiness  should  be  sought  in  doing  all  one 
can,  first  for  oneself,  and  then  for  other  people." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Herder.     "  I  agree  wiz  you." 

"  You  are  not  apt  to  do  first  for  yourself,"  said  Rufus,  with  a 
tender  sort  of  admission-making. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  first  for  oneself,"  said  the  naturalist 
musing. 

"  Yes  sir — or  could  one  ever  do  much  for  the  world  ?  " 

"  Dat  is  true ;  you  are  right  1 " 

"  Then  at  any  rate  one  is  to  put  other  people's  happiness  be- 
fore one's  own  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  with  a  mixed  expression  of  in- 
credulity and  discontent. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  113 

"  It  does  not  seem  just  reason,  does  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  It's  what  nobody  acts  up  to,"  said  Rose. 

"  O  Miss  Cadwallader,"  said  Asahel, — "  mother  does  it  al- 
ways ! " 

For  which  he  was  rewarded  with  an  inexpressible  glance,  which 
lit  upon  nothing,  however,  but  the  huckleberries.  v 

"  Is  that  your  doctrine,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  No,"  he  said  smiling, — "  not  mine.  •  Will  you  sit  a  little 
more  in  the  corner,  Miss  Elizabeth  ? — " 

Elizabeth  took  up  her  book  again,  and  gave  no  token  of  at- 
tention to  anything  else,  good  or  bad,  till  the  boat  neared  the 
rocks  of  the  landing  at  Shahweetah. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

Thou  art  a  dew-drop  which  the  morn  brings  forth, 
111  fitted  to  sustain  unkindly  shocks, 
Or  to  bo  trailed  along  the  soiling  earth. 

WoRDSWOBTH. 

One  day  in  September  it  chanced  that  the  house  was  left  en- 
tirely to  the  womenkind.  Even  Asahel  had  been  taken  off  by 
his  father  to  help  in  some  light  matter  which  his  strength  was 
equal  to.  Rufus  and  Winthrop  were  on  the  upland,  busy  with 
the  fall  ploughing ;  and  it  fell  to  little  "Winifred  to  carry  them 
their  dinner. 

The  doors  stood  open,  as  usual,  for  it  was  still  warm  weather, 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  were  all  scattered  at  their  several  oc- 
cupations. Miss  Cadwallader  on  the  bed,  asleep ;  Karen  some- 
where in  her  distant  premises  out  of  hearing ;  Elizabeth  sat  with 
her  book  in  the  little  passage-way  by  the  open  front  door,  screened 
however  by  another  open  door  from  the  keeping-room  where  Mrs. 
Landholm  sat  alone  at  her  sewing.  By  and  by  came  in  Winifred, 
through  the  kitchen  She  came  in  and  stood  by  the  fireplace  si- 
lent. 

"  Well  dear,"  said  the  mother  looking  up  from  her  work, — 
"did  you  find  them?" 

The  child's  answer  was  to  spring  to  her  side,  throw  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  burst  into  convulsive  tears. 

u  Winifred !  " — said  Mrs.  Landholm,  putting  an  arm  round 
the  trembling  child,  and  dropping  her  work, — "  what  ails  you, 
dear?— tell  me." 

The  little  girl  only  clung  closer  to  her  neck  and  shook  in  a 
passion  of  feeling,  speechless;  till  the  mother's  tone  became 
alarmed  and  imperative. 

"  It's  nothing,  mother,  it's  nothing,"  she  said,  clasping  her 
hard, — "  only — only — " 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMHC.  115 

The  words  were  lost  again  in  what  seemed  to  be  uncontrolla- 
ble weeping. 

"  Only  what,  dear  ?— what  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  was  crying." 

And  having  said  that,  scarce  audibly,  Winifred  gave  way  and 
cried  aloud. 

"  Winthrop  crying  ! — Nonsense,  dear, — you  were  mistaken." 

"  I  wasn't — I  saw  him." 

"  What  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

14  What  made  you  think  he  was  crying  ?  " 

"  I  saio  him  !  "  cried  the  child,  who  seemed  as  if  she  could 
hardly  bear  the  question  and  answer. 

"  You  were  mistaken,  daughter ; — he  would  not  have  let  you 
see  him." 

"  He  didn't — he  didn't  know  I  was  there." 

"  Where  were  you?  " 

"  I  was  behind  the  fence — I  stopped  to  look  at  him — he  didn't 
see  me." 

"Where  was  he?" 

"  He  was  ploughing." 

"  What  did  you  see,  Winifred  ?*" 

"  I  saw  him — oh  mamma ! — I  saw  him  put  his  hand  to  his 
eyes, — and  I  saw  the  tears  fall — " 

Her  little  head  was  pressed  against  her  mother's  bosom,  and 
many  more  tears  fell  for  his  than  his  had  been. 

Mrs.  Landholm  was  silent  a  minute  or  two,  stroking  Wini- 
fred's he.ad  and  kissing  her. 

"  And  when  you  went  into  the  field,  Winifred, — how  was  he 
then  ?  " 

"  Just  as  always  " 

"Where  was  Rufus?" 

"  He  was  on  the  other  side." 

Again  Mrs.  Landholm  was  silent. 

"  Cheer  up,  daughter,"  she  said  tenderly ; — M I  think  I  know 
what  was  the  matter  with  Winthrop,  and  it's  nothing  so  very  bad 
- — it'll  be  set  right  by  and  by,  I  hope.  Don't  cry  any  more 
about  it." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him,  mamma  ?  "  said  the  child  look- 
ing up  with  eyes  of  great  anxiety  and  intentness. 

"  He  wants  to  read  and  to  learn,  and  I  think  it  troubles  hira 
that  he  can't  do  that." 


116  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  But  mamma,  can't  he  ?  "  said  his  sister  with  a 
face  not  at  all  lightened  of  its  care. 

"  He  can't  just  now  very  well — you  know  he  must  help  papa 
on  the  farm." 

"  But  can't  he  by  and  by,  mamma  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so ; — we  will  try  to  have  him,"  said  the  mother,  while 
tears  gathered  now  in  her  grave  eyes  as  her  little  daughter's  were 
dried.  "  But  you  know,  dear  Winnie,  that  God  knows  best  what 
is  good  for  dear  Governor,  and  for  us ;  and  we  must  just  ask  him 
to  do  that,  and  not  what  we  fancy." 

"  But  mother,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  isn't  it  right  for  me  to 
ask  him  to  let  Winthrop  go  to  school  and  learn,  as  he  wants  to  ?  " 

"  Yes  daughter,"  said  the  mother,  bending  forward  till  her 
face  rested  on  the  little  brow  upturned  to  her,  and  the  gathered 
tears  falling, — "  let  us  thank  God  that  we  X/ay  ask  him  anything 
— we  have  that  comfort — l  In  everything,  I  y  prayer  and  suppli- 
cation, with  thanksgiving,'  we  may  make  our  requests  known  unto 
him — only  we  must  be  willing  after  all  to  have  him  judge  and 
choose  for  us." 

The  child  clasped  her  mother's  neck  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again. 

u  Then  I  won't  cry  any  more,  mamma,  now  that  I  know  what 
the  matter  is." 

But  Elizabeth  noticed  when  Winthrop  came  in  at  night,  how 
his  little  sister  attached  herself  to  his  side,  and  with  what  a  loving 
lip  and  longing  eye. 

"  Your  little  sister  is  very  fond  of  you,"  she  could  not  help 
sayir.g,  one  moment  when  Winifred  had  run  oft*. 

"  Too  fond,"  he  said. 

"  She  has  a  most  sensitive  organization,"  said  Rufus.  "  She 
is  too  fond  of  everything  that  she  loves." 

"  She  is  not  too  fond  of  you"  thought  Elizabeth,  as  Winifred 
came  back  to  her  other  brother,  with  some  little  matter  which  she 
thought  concerned  her  and  him.  •  *  Sensitive  organization  1 ' 
What  queer  people  these  are  !  " 

They  were  so  queer,  that  Elizabeth  thought  she  would  like  to 
see  what  was  the  farming  work  with  which  their  hands  were  filled 
and  which  swallowed  up  the  daily  life  of  these  people ;  and  the 
next  day  she  proposed  to  go  with  Winifred  when  she  went  the 
rounds  again  with  her  baskets  of  dinner.  Miss  Cadwallader  was 
glad  of  any  thing  that  promised  a  little  variety,  so  she  very  will- 
ingly made  one. 

It  was  a  pleasant  September  day,  the  great  heats  gone,  a  gen- 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  117 

tier  state  of  the  air  and  the  light ;  summer  was  just  falling  graceful- 
ly into  her  place  behind  the  advancing  autumn.  It  was  exceeding 
pleasant  walking,  through  the  still  air,  and  Elizabeth  and  her 
cousin  enjoyed  it.  But  little  Winifred  was  loaded  down  with 
two  baskets,  one  in  each  hand.     They  went  so  for  some  time. 

"  Winnie,"  said  Elizabeth  at  last,  "  give  me  one  of  those — I'll 
carry  it." 

"  0  no !  "  said  the  little  girl  looking  up  in  some  surprise, — 
"  they're  not  very  heavy — I  don't  want  any  help." 

"  Give  it  to  me ;  you  shan't  carry  'em  both." 

"  Then  take  the  other  one,"  said  Winifred, — "  thank  you,  Miss 
Elizabeth — I'm  just  going  to  take  this  in  to  father,  in  the  field 
here." 

"  In  the  field  where  ?     I  don't  see  anybody." 

"  0  because  the  corn  is  so  high.  You'll  gee  'eia  directly. 
This  is  the  bend-meadow  lot.     Father's  getting  in  the  corn." 

A  few  more  steps  accordingly  brought  them  to  a  cleared  part 
of  the  field,  where  the  tall  and  thick  cornstalks  were  laid  on  the 
ground.  There,  at  some  distance,  they  saw  the  group  of  workers, 
picking  and  husking  the  yellow  corn,  the  farm  wagon  standing  by. 
Little  Winifred  crept  under  the  fence  and  went  to  them  with  her 
basket,  and  her  companions  stood  at  the  fence  looking.  There 
were  Mr.  Landholm,  and  Asahel,  Mr.  Doolittle  and  another  man, 
seen  here  and  there  through  the  rows  of  corn.  Asahel  sat  by  a 
heap,  husking;  Mr.  Landholm  was  cutting  down  stalks;  and 
bushel  baskets  stood  about,  empty,  or  with  their  yellow  burden 
shewing  above  the  top. 

"  I  should  think  farmer's  work  would  be  pleasant  enough," 
Rose  remarked,  as  they  stood  leaning  over  the  fence. 

"  It  looks  pretty  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  But  I  shouldn't  like  to 
pull  corn  from  morning  to  night ;  and  I  don't  believe  you  would." 

"  0,  but  men  have  to  work,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader. 

Winifred  came  back  to  them  and  they  went  on  their  way,  but 
Elizabeth  would  not  let  her  take  the  basket  again.  It  was  a 
pretty  way ;  past  the  spring  where  Sam  Doolittle  had  pushed 
Winthrop  in  and  Rufus  had  avenged  him;  and  then  up  the  rather , 
steep  woody  road  that  led  to  the  plain  of  the  tableland.  The 
trees  stood  thick,  but  the  ascent  was  so  rapid  that  they  could  only 
in  places  hinder  the  view ;  and  as  the  travellers  went  up,  the  river 
spread  itself  out  more  broad,  and  Shahweetah  lay  below  them, 
its  boundaries  traced  out  as  on  a  map.  A  more  commanding  view 
of  the  opposite  shore,  a  new  sight  of  the  southern  mountains,  a 
deeper  draught  from  nature's  free  cup,  they  gained  as  they  went 


118  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

up  higher  and  higher.  Elizabeth  had  seen  it  often  before ;  she 
looked  and  drank  in  silence ;  though  to-day  September  was  peep- 
ing between  the  hills  and  shaking  his  sunny  hair  in  the  vallies; — 
not  crowned  like  the  receding  summer  with  insupportable  bril- 
liants. 

"  I  am  sorry  papa  is  coming  so  soon !  "  said  Elizabeth,  after 
she  had  stood  awhile  near  the  top,  looking. 

"  Why  I  thought  you  wanted  to  go  home,"  said  her  cousin. 

"  So  I  do  ; — but  I  don't  want  to  go  away  from  here." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  stay  for  ?  " 

"  It  is  so  lovely  ! — " 

"  What  is  so  lovely  ?  "  asked  Miss  vDadwallader  with  a  tone 
of  mischief. 

Elizabeth  turned  away  and  began  to  walk  on,  an  expression  of 
great  disgust  upon  her  face. 

"I  wish  I  was  blessed  with  a  companion  who  had  three  grains 
of  wit !  "  she  said. 

Miss  Cadwallader's  light  cloud  of  ill-humour,  it  seldom  looked 
more,  came  on  at  this ;  and  she  pouted  till  they  reached  the  fence 
of  the  ploughed  field  where  the  young  men  were  at  work.  Here 
Elizabeth  gave  up  her  basket  to  Winifred ;  and  creeping  through 
the  bars  they  all  made  for  the  nearest  plough.  It  happened  to 
be  Winthrop's. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he  as  they  came  up.  "  Am  I 
wanted  for  guard  or  for  oarsman  ?  " 

"  Neither — for  nothing,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Go  on,  won't  you  ? 
I  want  to  see  what  you  are  doing." 

"  Ploughing  ?  "  said  he.     "  Have  you  never  seen  it  ?  " 

He  went  on  and  they  walked  beside  him ;  Winifred  laughing, 
while  the  others  watched,  at  least  Elizabeth  did  minutely,  the 
process  of  the  share  in  turning  up  the  soil. 

"  Is  it  hard  work  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  not  here ;   not  when  the  business  is  understood." 

"  Like  rowing,  I  suppose  there  is  a  sleight  in  it  ?  " 

:'  A  good  deal  so." 

"  What  has  been  growing  here  ?  " 

"  Corn." 

"  And  now  when  you  get  to  the  fence  you  must  just  turn  about 
and  make  another  ridge  close  along  by  this  one  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

11  Goodness  ! — What's  going  to  be  sown  here  ?  " 

"  Wheat." 

"  And  all  this  work  is  just  to  make  the  ground  soft  for  the 
seeds  1 " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJO*.  119 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  do  just  as  well  to  make  holes  in  the  ground 
and  put  the  seeds  in  ?  "  said  Miss  Cadwallader ; — "  without  taking 
so  much  trouble  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  merely  to  make  the  ground  soft,"  said  Winthrop 
gravely,  while  Elizabeth's  bright  eye  glanced  at  him  to  mark  his 
behaviour.  "  The  soil  might  be  broken  without  being  so  thorough- 
ly turned.  If  you  see,  Miss  Elizabeth, — tho  slice  taken  off  by 
the  share  is  laid  bottom  upwards." 

"  I  see — well,  what  is  that  for  ?  " 

"  To  give  it  the  benefit  of  the  air." 

"  The  benefit  of  the  air  !— " 

"  The  air  has  a  sort  of  enriching  and  quickening  influence 
upon  the  soil ; — if  the  land  has  time  and  chance,  it  can  get  back 
from  the  air  a  great  deal  of  what  it  lost  in  .he  growing  of  crops." 

"  The  soil  loses,  then  ?  " 

"  Certainly;  it  loses  a  great  deal  to  some  crops." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Wheat  is  a  great  feeder,"  said  Winthrop  ;  "so  is  Indian  corn." 

"  By  its  being  '  a  great  feeder',  you  mean  that  it  takes  a  great 
deal  of  the  nourishing  quality  of  the  soil  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  many  things  I  do  not  know  !  "  said  Elizabeth  wistfully. 

In  the  little  pause  which  ensued,  Winifred  took  her  chance 
to  say, 
•  "Here's  your  dinner,  Governor." 

"  Then  when  the  ground  is  ploughed,  is  there  anything  else  to 
be  done  before  it  is  ready  for  the  wheat  ?  " 

"  Only  harrowing." 

Elizabeth  mused  a  little  while. 

"  And  how  much  will  the  wheat  be  worth,  Winthrop,  from  all 
this  field  ? ' 

"  Perhaps  two  hundred  dollars ;  or  two  hundred  and  fifty/' 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty. — And  then  the  expenses  are  some- 
thing." 

"  Less  to  us,"  said  Winthrop,  l*  because  we  do  so  much  of  the 
labour  ourselves." 

"  Here's  your  dinner,  Winthrop,"  said  Winifred ; — "  shall  I 
set  it  under  the  tree  ?  " 

u  Yes no,  Winifred, — you  may  leave  it  here." 

"  Then  stop  and  eat  it  now,  Governor,  won't  you  ? — don't 
wait  any  longer." 

He  gave  his  little  sister  a  look  and  a  little  smile,  that  told  of 
an  entirely  other  page  of  his  life,  folded  in  with  the  ploughing 


120  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

experience ;  a  word  and  look  very  different  from  any  he  had 
given  his  questioners.  Other  indications  Elizabeth's  eye  had 
caught  under  '  the  tree,' — a  single  large  beech  tree  which  stood 
by  the  fence  some  distance  off.     Two  or  three  books  lay  there. 

"  Do  you  find  time  for  reading  here  in  the  midst  of  your 
ploughing,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Not  much — sometimes  a  little  in  the  noon-spell,"  he  an- 
swered, colouring  slightly. 

They  left  him  and  walked  on  to  visit  Rufus.  Elizabeth  led 
near  enough  to  the  tree  to  make  sure,  what  her  keen  eye  knew 
pretty  well  already,  that  one  of  the  books  was  the  very  identical 
old  brown-covered  Greek  and  Latin  dictionary  that  she  had  seen 
in  the  boat.     She  passed  on  and  stood  silent  by  E-ufus's  plough. 

"  Well,  we've  come  to  see  you,  Rufus,"  said  Miss  Cad- 
wallader. 

I  I  thought  you  had  come  to  see  my  brother,"  said  he. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  see  either  one  or  the  other,"  said  Elizabeth 
"  I  came  to  see  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  hope  you  are  gratified,"  said  the  young  man  a  little  tartly. 

"  What's  the  use  of  taking  so  much  trouble  to  break  up  the 
ground  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  Because,  unfortunately,  there  is  no  way  of  doing  it  without 
trouble,"  said  Rufus,  looking  unspoken  bright  things  into  the  fur- 
row at  his  feet. 

"  But  why  couldn't  you  just  make  holes  in  the  ground  and  put 
the  seed  in  ?  " 

"  For  a  reason  that  you  will  appreciate,  Miss  Rose,  if  you  will 
put  on  your  bonnet  the  wrong  way,  with  the  front  precisely 
where  the  back  should  be." 

"  I  don't  understand," — said  the  young  lady,  with  something 
of  an  inclination  to  pout,  Will's  face  was  so  full  of  understanding. 

"  It  isn't  necessary  that  you  should  understand  such  a  busi- 
ness," he  said,  becoming  grave.  "  It  is  our  fortune  to  do  it,  and 
it  is  yours  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it, — which  is  much  better." 

"  I  have  the  happiness  to  disagree  with  you,  Mr.  Rufus," 
said  Elizabeth. 

"In  what?" 

II  In  thinking  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  or  that  it  is 
not  necessary  we  should  understand  it  " 

"  1  don't  see  the  happiness,  Miss  Elizabeth ;  for  your  disagree- 
ment imposes  upon  you  a  necessity  which  I  should  think  better 
avoided." 

"  Which  ploughs  the  best,  Rufus  ?  "  said  Rose ; — "  you  Of 
Winthrop  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  121 

"  There  is  one  kind  of  ploughing,"  said  Rufus  biting  his  lip, 
"  which  Winthrop  doesn't  understand  at  all." 

"  And  you  understand  them  all,  I  suppose  ?  " 

He  didn  t  answer. 

"  What  is  the  -kind  he  does  not  understand,  Mr.  Rufus  ?  " 
eaid  Elizabeth. 

"  Ploughing  with  another  man's  heifer." 

"  Why  what's  that,  Rufus  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean," 
said  Miss  Cadwallader. 

No  more  did  Elizabeth,  and  she  had  no  mind  to  engage  the 
speaker  on  unequal  terms.  She  called  her  cousin  off  and  took 
the  road  home,  leaving  Winifred  to  speak  to  her  brother  and 
follow  at  her  leisure. 

"  How  different  those  two  people  are,"  she  remarked. 

"  Which  one  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Winthrop,  a  great  deal." 

"  I  know  you  like  him  the  best,"  said  her  cousin  wilfully. 

"  Of  course  you  do,  for  I  tell  you." 

"  I  don't.    I  like  the  other  a  great  deal  the  best." 

"  He  wasn't  very  glad  to  see  us,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Why  wasn't  he  ?  Yes  he  was.  He  was  as  glad  as  the 
other  one." 

"  The  other  one  didn't  care  twopence  about  it." 

"  And  what  did  this  one  care  ?  " 

"  He  cared, — "  said  Elizabeth. 

"Well  I  like  he  should — the  other  one  don't  care  about 
anything.' 

"  Yes  he  does,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  shall  give  Mr.  Haye  a  hint — that  he  had  better  not  send 
you  here  another  summer,"  said  Rose  wittily; — "there  is  no 
telling  what  anybody  will  care  for.  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it 
of  you." 

"  Can't  you  be  sensible  about  anything !  "  said  Elizabeth,  with 
a  sort  of  contemptuous  impatience.  "  If  I  had  anybody  else  to 
talk  to,  I  would  not  give  you  the  benefit  of  my  thoughts.  I  tell 
them  to  you  because  I  have  nobody  else ;  and  I  really  wish  you 
could  make  up  your  mind  to  answer  me  as  I  deserve ;— or  not 
at  all." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader,  when  they 
had  walked  in  company  with  ill-humour  as  far  as  the  brow  of 
the  hill. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so." 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  too  old  for  your  age." 


122  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  I  am  not !  "  said  Elizabeth,  who  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  had  again  stopped  to  look  over  the  landscape.  "  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  think  that.  You  are  two  years  older,  Rose,  in  body, 
than  I  am ;  and  ten  years  older  in  spirit,  this  minute." 

"  Does  the  spirit  grow  old  faster  than  the  body  ?  "  said  Rose 
laughing. 

"  Yes — sometimes. — How  pretty  all  that  is  !  " 

*  That '  meant  the  wide  view,  below  and  before  them,  of  river 
and  hill  and  meadow.  It  was  said  with  a  little  breath  of  a  sigh, 
and  Elizabeth  turned  away  and  began  to  go  down  the  road. 

Winifred  gave  it  as  her  opinion  to  her  mother  privately, 
after  they  got  home,  that  Miss  Haye  was  a  very  ill-behaved 
young  lady. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


The  thing  we  long  for,  that  we  are, 

For  one  transcendent  moment, 
Before  the  Present,  poor  and  bare, 

Can  make  its  sneering  comment 
Still  through  our  paltry  stir  and  strife 

Glows  down  the  wished  Ideal, 
And  Longing  moulds  in  clay  what  Life 

Carves  in  the  marble  Real 

Lowell. 

Mr.  Haye  came  the  latter  part  of  September  to  fetch  his 
daughter  and  his  charge  home ;  and  spent  a  day  or  two  in  going 
over  the  farm  and  making  himself  acquainted  with  the  river. 
He  was  a  handsome  man,  and  very  comfortable  in  face  and  figure. 
The  wave  of  prosperity  had  risen  up  to  his  very  lips,  and  its  rip- 
ples were  forever  breaking  there  in  a  succession  of  easy  smiles. 
He  made  himself  readily  at  home  in  the  family ;  with  a  well- 
mannered  sort  of  good-humour,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  his 
fine  broadcloth  and  beautifully  plaited  ruffles.  Mr.  Landholm 
was  not  the  only  one  who  enjoyed  his  company.  Between  him 
and  Rufus  and  Miss  Cadwallader  and  Mr.  Haye,  the  round  game 
of  society  was  kept  up  with  great  spirit. 

One  morning  Mr.  Haye  was  resting  himself  with  a  book  in 
his  daughter's  room;  he  had  had  a  long  tramp  with  the  farmer. 
Rose  went  out  in  search  of  something  more  amusing.  Elizabeth 
sat  over  her  book  for  awhile,  then  looked  up. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  could  do  something  to  help 
that  young  man." 

"  What  young  man  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  Landholm." 

"  What  does  he  want  help  for  ?  " 

"  He  is  trying  to  get  an  education — trying  hard,  I  fancy,"  said 
Elizabeth,  putting  down  her  book  and  looking  at  her  father, — 
*  he  wants  to  make  himself  something  more  than  a  farmer." 


124  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

"  Why  should  he  want  to  make  himself  anything  more  than  a 
farmer  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye  without  looking  off  his  book, 

"  Why  would  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  would  just  as  lief  be  a  farmer  as  anything  else,"  said  Mr. 
Haye,  "  if  I  had  happened  to  be  born  in  that  line.  It's  as  good 
a  way  of  life  as  any  other." 

"  Why  father  ! — You  would  rather  be  what  you  are  now  ?  " 

"  Well — I  wasn't  born  a  farmer,"  said  Mr.  Haye  conclu- 
sively. 

"  Then  you  would  have  everybody  stay  where  he  happens  to 
be!" 

"I  wouldn't  have  anything  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 
"  That's  what  I  want  for  myself — let  other  people  do  what  they 
will." 

"But  some  people  can't  do  what  they  wili.' 

"  Well — Be  thankful  you're  not  one  of  'em." 

"  Father,  if  I  can  have  what  I  will,  I  would  have  you  help 
Ihis  young  man." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  help  him,  child; — he's  not  in  my  way. 
If  he  wanted  to  go  into  business,  there  would  be  something  in  it, 
but  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  schools  and  Colleges." 

Elizabeth's  cheek  lit  up  with  one  of  the  prettiest  colours  a  wo- 
man's cheek  ever  wears, — the  light  of  generous  indignation. 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  means !  "  she  said. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  it? " 

"  I  would  help  him,  somehow." 

"  My  dear,  you  could  not  do  it;  they  would  not  let  you;  their 
pride  would  stand  in  the  way  of  everything  of  the  kind." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Elizabeth,  the  fire  of  her  eye  shin- 
ing now  through  drops  that  made  it  brighter; — "I  am  sure 
something  could  be  done." 

<:  It's  just  as  well  undone,"  said  Mr.  Haye  calmly. 

"  Why,  sir  ?  " — his  daughter  asked  almost  fiercely. 

"  What  put  this  young  fellow's  head  upon  Colleges,  and  all 
that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ! — how  should  I  ?  " 

"  It  won't  last — it's  just  a  freak  to  be  a  great  man  and  get 
out  of  hob-nailed  shoes — he'll  get  over  it ;  and  much  better  he 
should.  It's  much  better  he  should  stay  here  and  help  his  father, 
and  that's  what  he's  made  for.     He'll  never  be  anything  else." 

Mr.  Haye  threw  down  his  book  and  left  the  room ;  and  his 
daughter  stood  at  the  window  with  her  heart  swelling. 

"  He  will  be  something  else,  and  he'll  not  get  over  it,"  she 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  125 

said  to  herself,  while  her  eyes  were  too  full  to  let  her  see  a  single 
thing  outside  the  window.  "  He  is  fit  for  something  else,  and  he 
will  have  it,  hard  or  easy,  short  or  long ;  and  I  hope  he  will ! — 
and  oh,  I  wish  father  had  done  what  would  be  for  his  honour  in 
this  thing !— " 

There  was  a  hitter  taste  to  the  last  sentence,  and  tears  would 
not  wash  it  out.  Elizabeth  was  more  superb  than  ordinary  that 
night  at  supper,  and  had  neither  smiles  nor  words  for  anybody. 

A  day  or  two  after  they  were  going  away. 

"  "Winthrop,"  she  said  at  parting,  (not  at  all  by  familiarity, 
but  because  she  did  not  in  common  grant  them  a  right  to  any 
title  whatsoever) — "  may  I  leave  you  my  little  Merry-go-round  ? 
—  and  will  you  let  nobody  have  the  charge  of  it  except  yourself  ?  " 

He  smiled  and  thanked  her. 

"'Tisn't  much  thanks,"  she  said;  meaning  ttanks'  worth. 
"  It  is  I  who  have  to  thank  you." 

For  she  felt  that  she  could  not  send  any  money  to  the  boy 
who  had  taken  care  of  her  horse. 

The  family  party  gathered  that  night  round  the  supper-table 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  upon  several  of  them.  Mr.  Landholm's 
face  looked  satisfied,  as  of  a  man  who  had  got  a  diflicult  job  well 
over;  Mrs.  Landholm's  took  time  to  be  tired;  Winthrop's  was  as 
usual,  though  remembering  with  some  comfort  that  there  would 
not  be  so  many  wantings  of  fish,  nor  so  many  calls  upon  his 
strength  of  arm  for  boat  exercise.  Rufus  was  serious  and 
thoughtful ;  the  children  disposed  to  be  congratulatory. 

"  It's  good  I  can  sit  somewhere  but  on  the  corner,"  said  Asa- 
hel, — "  and  be  by  ourselves." 

"  It's  good  I  can  have  my  old  place  again,"  said  Winifred, 
"  and  sit  by  Governor." 

Her  brother  rewarded  her  by  drawing  up  her  chair  and  draw- 
ing it  closer. 

"  I  am  glad  they  are  gone,  for  your  sake,  mamma,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  we  haven't  made  a  bad  summer  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Land- 
holm. 

His  wife  thought  in  her  secret  soul  it  had  been  a  busy  one. 
Winthrop  thought  it  had  been  a  barren  one.  Rufus — was  not 
ready  to  say  quite  that. 

"  Not  a  bad  summer,"  repeated  Mr.  Landholm.  "  The  next 
thing  is  to  see  what  we  will  do  with  the  winter." 

"  Or  what  the  winter  will  do  with  us,"  said  Rufus  after  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  If  you  like  it  so,"  said  his  father ;  "  but  I  prefer  the  other 


126  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

mode  of  putting  it.     I'd  keep  the  upper  hand  of  time  always;  — 
I  speak  it  reverently." 

Winthrop  thought  how  completely  the  summer  had  got  tho 
better  of  him. 

"  My  friend  Haye  is  a  good  fellow — a  good  fellow.  I  like 
him.  He  and  I  were  always  together  in  the  legislature.  He's  a 
sensible  man." 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,"  said  Rufus. 

"  Ay — Well  he  has  money  enough  to  be.  That  don't  always 
do  it,  though.  A  man  and  his  coat  aren't  always  off  the  same 
piece.  Those  are  nice  girls  of  his,  too ; — pretty  girls.  That 
Rose  is  a  pretty  creature  ! — I  don't  know  but  I  like  t'other  one  as 
well  in  the  long  run  though, — come  to  know  her." 

"  I  do — better,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm.  "  There  is  good  in 
her." 

"  A  sound  stock,  only  grown  a  little  too  rank,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  She's  a  little  overtopping.  Well,  there  will 
come  a  drought  by  and  by  that  will  cure  that." 

"  Why  sir  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  The  odds  are  that  way,"  said  his  father.  "  'Taint  a  stand-still 
world,  this;  what's  up  to-day  is  down  to-morrow.  Mr.  Haye 
may  hold  his  own,  though ;  and  I  am  sure  I  hope  he  will — for  his 
sake  and  her  sake,  both." 

"  He  is  a  good  business  man,  isn't  he,  sir  ?  " 

"  Then  aint  a  better  business  man,  I'll  engage,  than  he  is,  in 
the  whole  city  of  Mannahatta ;  and  that  numbers  now, — sixty  odd 
thousand,  by  the  last  census.  He  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
himself,  as  well  as  any  man  I  ever  saw." 

"  Then  he  bids  fair  to  stand  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  anybody  bids  fairer.  He  was  trying  to  make 
a  business  man  of  you,  wa'n't  he,  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  He  was  saying  something  about  it." 

"  Would  you  like  that?" 

"  Not  in  the  first  place,  sir." 

"  No.  Ah  well — we'll  see, — we'll  see,"  said  Mr.  Landholm 
rising  up ; — "  we'll  try  and  do  the  best  we  can." 

What  was  thai  ?  A  question  much  mooted,  by  different  peo- 
ple and  in  very  different  moods ;  but  perhaps  most  anxiously  and 
carefully  by  the  father  and  mother.  And  the  end  was,  that  he 
would  borrow  money  of  somebody, — say  of  Mr.  Haye, — and  they 
would  let  both  the  boys  go  that  fall  to  College.  If  this  were  not 
the  best,  it  was  the  only  thing  they  could  do ;  so  it  seemed  to 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  IV} 

them,  and  so  they  spoke  of  it.  How  the  young  men  were  to  be 
kept  at  College,  no  mortal  knew;  the  father  and  mother  did  not; 
but  the  pressure  of  necessity  and  the  strength  of  will  took  and 
carried  the  whole  burden.  The  boys  must  go ;  they  should  go ; 
and  go  they  did. 

In  a  strong  yearning  that  the  minds  of  their  children  should 
not  lack  bread,  in  the  self-denying  love  that  would  risk  any  hard- 
ship to  give  it  them, — the  father  and  mother  found  their  way 
plain  if  not  easy  before  them.  If  his  sons  were  to  mount  to  a 
higher  scale  of  existence  and  fit  themselves  for  nobler  work  in 
life  than  he  had  done,  his  shoulders  must  thenceforth  bear  a 
double  burden ;  but  they  were  willing  to  bear  it.  She  must  lose, 
not  only,  the  nurtured  joys  of  her  hearthstone,  but  strain  every 
long-strained  nerve  afresh  to  keep  them  wher6  she  could  not 
see  and  could  but  dimly  enjoy  them;  but  she  was  willing. 
There  were  no  words  of  regret;  and  thoughts  of  sorrow 
lay  with  thoughts  of  love  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  too 
fast-bound  together  and  too  mighty  to  shew  themselves  except 
in  action. 

The  money  was  borrowed  easily,  upon  a  mortgage  of  the 
farm.  President  Tuttle  was  written  to,  and  a  favourable  answer 
received.  There  was  a  foundation  at  Shagarack,  as  well  as  at 
Mannahatta;  and  Will  and  Winthrop  could  be  admitted  there 
on  somewhat  easier  terms  than  were  granted  to  those  who  could 
afford  better.  Some  additions  were  made  to  their  scanty  ward- 
robe from  Mr.  Cowslip's  store ;  and  at  home  unwearied  days  and 
nights  were  given  to  making  up  the  new,  and  renewing  and  refur- 
bishing the  old  and  the  worn.  Old  socks  were  re-toed  and  re- 
footed  ;  old  trousers  patched  so  that  the  patch  could  not  be  seen ; 
the  time-telling  edg;s  of  collars  and  wristbands  done  over,  so 
that  they  would  last  awhile  yet;  mittens  knitted,  and  shirts 
made.  It  was  a  little  wardrobe  when  all  was  done;  yet  how 
much  time  and  care  had  been  needed  to  bring  it  together  It 
was  a  dear  one  too,  though  it  had  cost  little  money ;  for  it  might 
almost  be  said  to  have  been  made  of  the  heart's  gold.  Poor 
Winifred's  love  was  less  wise  than  her  mother's,  for  it  could  not 
keep  sorrow  down*  As  yet  she  did  not  know  that  it  was  not  bet- 
ter to  sit  at  her  father's  board  end  than  at  either  end  of  the 
highest  form  at  Shagarack.  She  knitted,  socks  and  stockings,  all 
the  day  long,  when  her  mother  did  not  want  her ;  but  into  them 
she  dropped  so  many  tears  that  the  wool  was  sometimes  wet  with 
them;  and  as  Karen  said,  half  mournfully  and  half  to  hide 
her   mourning,    "they  wouldn't   want   shrinking."      Winthrop 


128  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

came  in  one  day  and  fonnd  her  crying  in  the  chimney  corner 
and  taking  the  half-knit  stocking  from  her  hand  he  felt  her 
tears  in  it. 

"  My  little  Winnie ! — "  he  said,  in  that  voice  with  which  he 
sometimes  spoke  his  whole  heart. 

Winifred  sprang  to  his  neck  and  closing  her  arms  there,  wept 
as  if  she  would  weep  her  life  away.  And  Rufus  who  had  followed 
Winthrop  in,  stood  beside  them,  tear  after  tear  falling  quietly  on 
the  hearth.  Winthrop's  tears  nobody  knew  but  Winifred,  and 
even  in  the  bitterness  of  her  distress  she  felt  and  tasted  them 
all. 

The  November  days  seemed  to  grow  short  and  drear  with 
deeper  shadows  than  common,  as  the  last  were  to  see  the  boys  go 
off  for  Shagarack.  The  fingers  that  knitted  grew  more  tremu- 
lous, and  the  eyes  that  wrought  early  and  late  were  dim  with  more 
than  weariness ;  but  neither  fingers  nor  eyes  gave  themselves  any 
holiday.  The  work  was  done  at  last ;  the  boxes  were  packed ; 
those  poor  little  boxes!  They  were  but  little,  and  they  had 
seen  service  already.  Of  themselves  they  told  a  story.  And 
they  held  now,  safely  packed  up,  the  College  fit-out  of  the  two 
young  men. 

"  I  wonder  if  Shagarack  is  a  very  smart  place,  mamma  ?  " 
said  Winifred,  as  she  crouched  beside  the  boxes  watching  the 
packing. 

"Why?" 

Winifred  was  silent  and  looked  thoughtfully  into  the  box. 

"  Rufus  and  Governor  will  not  care  if  it  is." 

"  They  needn't  care  "  said  Asahel,  who  was  also  at  the  box 
side.  "  They  can  bear  to  be  not  quite  so  smart  as  other  folks. 
Mr.  Haye  said  he  never  saw  such  a  pair  of  young  men ;  and  I 
guess  he  didn't." 

Winifred  sighed  and  still  looked  into  the  box,  with  a  face 
that  said  plainly  she  would  like  to  have  them  smart. 

"  0  well,  mamma,"  she  said  presently,  "  I  guess  they  will 
look  pretty  nice,  with  all  those  new  things;  and  the  socks  are 
nice,  aren't  they?  If  it  was  only  summer — nobody  can  look 
nicer  than  Winthrop  when  he  has  his  white  clothes  on." 

u  It  will  be  summer  by  and  by,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm. 

The  evening  came  at  last;  the  supper  was  over;  and  the 
whole  family  drew  together  round  the  fire.  It  was  not  a  very 
talkative  .evening.  They  looked  at  each  other  more  than  they 
6poke ;  and  they  looked  at  the  fire  more  than  they  did  either. 
£t  last  Mr.  Landholm  went  off,  recommending  to  all  of  them  to 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  129 

go  to  bed.  Asahel,  who  had  been  in  good  spirits  on  the  matter 
all  along,  followed  his  father.  The  mother  and  daughter  and  the 
two  boys  were  left  alone  round  the  kitchen  fire. 

They  were  more  silent  than  ever  then,  for  a  good  space ;  and 
four  pair  of  eyes  were  bent  diligently  on  the  rising  and  falling 
flames.  Only  Winifred's  sometimes  wandered  to  the  face  of  one 
or  the  other  of  her  brothers,  but  they  never  could  abide  long.  It 
was  Mrs.  Landholm's  gentle  voice  that  broke  the  silence. 

"  What  mark  are  you  aiming  at,  boys  ? — what  are  you  setting 
before  you  as  the  object  of  life  ?  " 

"  Whai  mark,  mother?  "  said  Rufus  after  an  instant's  pause. 

"  Yes." 

"  To  make  something  of  myself !  "  he  said  rising,  and  with 
that  fire-flashing  nostril  and  lip  that  spoke  his  whole  soul  at  work. 
"  I  have  a  chance  now,  and  it  will  go  hard  but  I  will  accomplish 
it." 

The  mother's  eye  turned  to  her  other  son. 

"  I  believe  I  must  say  the  same,  mother,"  he  replied  gravely. 
"  I  have  perhaps  some  notion  of  doing,  afterwards ;  but  the  first 
thing  is  to  be  myself  what  I  can  be.  I  am  not,  I  feel,  a  tithe  of 
that  now." 

"I  agree  with  you — you  are  right,  so  far,"  answered  the 
mother,  turning  her  face  again  to  the  fire ; — "  but  in  the  end, 
what  is  it  you  would  do,  and  would  be  ?  " 

"  Profession,  do  you  mean,  mamma  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  and  he  needed  not  to  ask  any  more. 

"  I  mean,  what  is  all  this  for  ? — what  purpose  lies  behind  all 
this?" 

"  To  distinguish  myself!  "  said  Rufus, — "if  I  can, — in  some 
way." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  no  better  than  that  with  me,  mother,"  said 
Winthrop ;  "  though  perhaps  I  should  rather  say  my  desire  is  to 
be  distinguished." 

"  What's  the  difference  ?  "  said  his  brother. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  think  I  feel  a  difference." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  preach  to  you  now,"  said  Mrs.  Landholm, 
and  yet  the  slight  failing  of  her  voice  did  it — how  lastingly ! — 
"  I  cannot, — and  I  need  not.  Only  one  word.  If  you  sow  and 
reap  a  crop  that  will  perish  in  the  using,  what  will  you  do  when 
it  is  gone  ? — and  remember  it  is  said  of  the  redeemed,  that  their 

works  do  follow  them.     Remember  that. One  word  more," 

she  said  after  a  pause.     "  Let  me  have  it  to  say  in  that  day,— 

■  Of  all  which  thou  gavest  me  have  I  lost  none ' ! " 

6* 


130  THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC 

Not  preach  to  them  ?  And  what  was  her  hidden  face  and 
bowed  head  ? — a  preaching  the  like  of  which  they  were  never  to 
hear  from  mortal  voices.  But  not  a  word,  not  a  lisp,  fell  from  one 
of  them.  Winifred  had  run  off;  the  rest  hardly  stirred ;  till 
Mrs.  Landholm  rose  up,  and  gravely  kissing  one  and  the  other 
prepared  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Where  is  Winifred  ?  "  said  her  brother  suddenly  missing  her. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  am  sure  she  is  somewhere  praying  for 
you." 

They  said  no  more,  even  to  each  other,  that  night. 

Nor  much  the  next  day.  It  was  the  time  for  doing^iot  think- 
ing. There  was  not  indeed  much  to  do,  except  to  get  off;  but 
that  seemed  a  great  deal.  It  was  done  at  last.  Mrs.  Land- 
holm  from  the  window  of  the  kitchen  watched  them  get  into 
the  wagon  and  drive  off;  and  then  she  sat  down  by  the  window 
to  cry. 

Asahel  had  gone  to  ride  as  far  as  the  mountain's  foot  with  his 
father  and  brothers ;  and  Winifred  knelt  down  beside  her  mother 
to  lean  her  head  upon  her ;  they  could  not  get  near  enough  just 
then.  It  was  only  to  help  each  other  weep,  for  neither  could 
comfort  the  other  nor  be  comforted,  for  a  time.  Yet  the  feeling 
of  the  two,  like  as  it  seemed  outwardly,  was  far  unlike  within.  In 
the  child  it  was  the  spring  flood  of  a  little  brook,  bringing,  to  be 
sure,  momentary  desolation ;  in  the  mother  it  was  the  flow  of  the 
great  sea,,  still  and  mighty.  And  when  it  grew  outwardly  quiet, 
ihe  same  depth  was  there. 

They  got  into  each  other's  arms  at  last,  and  pressed  cheek  to 
«heek  and  kissed  each  other  many  times ;  but  the  first  word  was 
Mrs.  Landholm's,  saying, 

"  Come — we  had  better  go  and  get  tea — Asahel  will  be  back 
directly." 

Asahel  came  back  in  good  spirits,  having  had  his  cry  on  the 
road,  and  they  all  took  tea  with  what  cheerfulness  they  might. 
But  after  tea  Winifred  sat  in  the  chimney  corner  gazing  into  the 
fire,  very  still  and  pale  and  worn-looking ;  her  sober  blue  eyes 
intently  fixed  on  something  that  was  not  there.  Very  intently, 
so  that  it  troubled  her  mother ;  for  Winifred  had  not  strength  of 
frame  to  bear  strong  mind-working.     She  watched  her. 

"  What,  mamma  ?  "  said  the  little  girl  with  a  half  start,  as 
a  hand  was  laid  gently  and  remindingly  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  I  should  rather  ask  you  what,"  said  her  mother  tenderly. 
"  Rest,  daughter,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  worrying,  mamma." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  131 

"Wa'n'tyou?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  '  They  have  washed  their  robes  and  made 
them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.'  " 

«  Why,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  can  wash  mine,  mother." 

"Yes— Why,  my  dear  child?" 

"  There  are  so  many  spots  on  them." 

Her  mother  stooped  down  beside  her  and  spoke  cheerfully. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  now,  Winnie  ?  " 

"  Only,  mamma,  I  am  glad  to  think  of  it,"  she  said,  nestling 
her  sunny  little  head  in  her  mother's  neck.  "  I  wanted  yesterday 
that  Will  and  Governor  should  have  better  clothes." 

"  Well  Winnie,  I  wanted  it  too — I  would  have  given  them 
better  if  I  had  had  them." 

"  But  mamma,  ought  I  to  have  wished  that  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  dear  Winnie  ;  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  com- 
fortable clothes,  and  it  is  right  to  wish  for  them,  provided  we 
can  be  patient  when  we  don't  get  them.  But  still  I  think  dear 
Governor  and  Will  will  be  pretty  comfortable  this  winter.  W& 
will  try  to  make  them  so." 

"  Yes  mamma, — but  I  wanted  them  to  be  smart" 

"  It  is  right  to  be  smart,  Winnie,  if  we  aren't  too  smart." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  always  just  right,  mamma." 

"  The  rightest  thing  will  be  for  you  to  go  to  sleep,"  said  her 
mother,  kissing  her  eyes  and  cheeks.  "  I'll  be  through  my 
work  directly  and  then  you  shall  sit  in  my  lap  and  rest — I  don't 
want  to  sew  to-night.  Winnie,  the  good  Shepherd  will  gather 
my  little  lamb  with  his  arm  and  carry  her  in  his  bosom,  if  she 
minds  his  voice ;  and  then  he  will  bring  her  by  and  by  where  she 
shall  walk  with  him  in  white,  and  there  will  be  no  spots  on  the 
white  any  more." 

"  I  know.  Make  haste,  mother,  and  let  us  sit  down  together 
and  talk." 

So  they  did,  with  Asahel  at  their  feet ;  but  they  didn't  tails 
much.  They  kept  each  other  silent  and  soft  companionship,  tilL 
Winifred's  breathing  told  that  she  had  lost  her  troubles  in  sleep 
on  her  mother's  bosom. 

"  Poor  little  soul !  she  takes  it  hard,"  said  Karen.  "  She's 
'most  as  old  as  her  mother  now." 

"  You  must  get  her  to  play  with  you,  Asahel,  as  much  as  you 
can,"  Mrs.  Landholm  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  Why  mamma  ?  aint  she  well  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I'm  afraid  she  wont  keep  so." 


132  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  She's  too  good  to  be  well,"  said  Karen. 

Which  was  something  like  true.  Not  in  the  vulgar  preju- 
dice, as  Karen  understood  it.  It  was  not  Winifred's  goodness 
which  threatened  her  well-being;  but  the  very  delicate  spirits 
which  answered  too  promptly  and  strongly  every  touch;  too 
strong  in  their  actms;  for  a  bodily  frame  in  like  manner  deli- 
cate. 


CHAPTEB    XIII. 

Mess.— He  hath  indeed,  better  bettered  expectation,  than  you  mult  expect  me  ts  tell 
you  how. 

Leon.'— He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very  mnch  glad  of  it. 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

Mr.  Landholm  came  back  in  excellent  spirits  from  Shagarack. 
The  boys  were  well  entered,  Will  Junior  and  Winthrop  Sopho- 
more, and  with  very  good  credit  to  themselves.  This  had  been 
their  hope  and  intention,  with  the  view  of  escaping  the  cost  of 
one  and  two  years  of  a  college  life.  President  Tuttle  had  received 
them  very  kindly,  and  everything  was  promising;  the  boys  in 
good  heart,  and  their  father  a  proud  man. 

"  Aint  it  queer,  now,"  he  said  that  evening  of  his  return,  as 
he  sat  warming  his  hands  before  the  blaze,  "  aint  it  queer  that 
those  two  fellows  should  go  in  like  that — one  Junior  and  t'other 
Sophomore,  and  when  they've  had  no  chance  at  all  beforehand, 
you  may  say.  Will  has  been  a  little  better,  to  be  sure ;  but 
how  on  earth  Winthrop  ever  prepared  himself  I  can't  imagine. 
Why  the  fellow  read  off  Greek  there,  and  I  didn't  know  he  had 
ever  seen  a  word  of  it." 

"  He  used  to  learn  up  in  his  room  o'  nights,  father,"  said 
Asahel. 

"  He  used  to  carry  his  books  to  the  field  and  study  while  the 
oxen  were  resting,"  said  Winifred. 

"  He  did !  — Well,  he'll  get  along.  I  aint  afeard  of  him. 
He  won't  be  the  last  man  in  the  College,  I  guess." 

"  I  guess  not,  father,"  said  Asahel. 

And  now  the  months  sped  along  with  slow  step,  bringing  toil- 
work  for  every  day.  It  was  cheerfully  taken,  and  patiently 
wrought  through ;  both  at  Shagarack  and  in  the  little  valley  at 
home ;  but  those  were  doing  for  themselves,  and  these  were  truly 


134  THE     HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

doing  love's  work,  for  them.  All  was  for  them.  The  crops  were 
grown  and  the  sheep  sheared,  that  Rufus  and  Winthrop  might, 
not  eat  and  be  clothed, — that  was  a  trifle, — but  have  the  full 
good  of  a  College  education.  The  burden  and  the  joy  of  the 
toilers  was  the  same.  There  were  delightful  speculations  round 
the  fireside  about  the  professions  the  young  men  would  choose ; 
what  profound  lawyers,  what  brilliant  ministers,  should  come 
forth  from  the  learned  groves  of  Shagarack ;  perhaps,  the  father 
hinted, — statesmen.  There  were  letters  from  both  the  boys,  to 
be  read  and  re-read,#and  loved  and  prided  in,  as  once  those  of 
Itafus.  And  clothes  came  home  to  mend,  and  new  and  nice  knit- 
ted socks  went  now  and  then  to  replace  the  worn  ones ;  but  that 
commerce  was  not  frequent  nor  large ;  where  there  was  so  little 
to  make,  it  was  of  necessity  that  there  should  not  be  too  much 
to  mend ;  and  alas !  if  shirt-bosoms  gave  out,  the  boys  buttoned 
their  coats  over  them  and  studied  the  harder.  There  were  wants 
they  did  not  tell ;  those  that  were  guessed  at,  they  knew,  cost 
many  a  strain  at  home ;  and  were  not  all  met  then.  But  they 
had  not  gone  to  Shagarack  to  be  i  smart,' — except  mentally. 
That  they  were. 

They  were  favourites,  notwithstanding.  Their  superiors  de- 
lighted in  their  intellectual  prominence;  their  fellows  forgave 
it.  Quietly  and  irresistibly  they  had  won  to  the  head  of  their 
respective  portions  of  the  establishment,  and  stayed  there ;  but 
the  brilliancy  and  fire  of  Rufus  and  the  manliness  and  temper 
of  his  brother  gained  them  the  general  good- will,  and  general 
consent  to  the  place  from  which  it  was  impossible  to  dislodge 
them.  Admiration  first  followed  the  elder  brother,  and  liking 
the  younger;  till  it  was  found  that  Winthrop  was  as  uncon- 
querable as  he  was  unassuming ;  as  sure  to  be  ready  as  to  be 
right ;  and  a  very  thorough  and  large  respect  presently  fell  into 
the  train  of  his  deservings.  The  faculty  confided  in  him ;  his 
mates  looked  up  to  him.  There  was  happily  no  danger  of  any 
affront  to  Winthrop  which  might  have  called  Rufus's  fire  disa- 
greeably into  play.  And  for  himself,  he  was  too  universally 
popular.  If  he  was  always  in  the  foreground,  everybody  knew 
it  was  because  he  could  not  be  anywhere  else.  If  Winthrop  was 
often  brought  into  the  foreground,  on  great  occasions,  every  soul 
of  them  knew  it  was  because  no  other  would  have  dignified  it  so 
well.  And  besides,  neither  Winthrop  nor  Rufus  forgot  or  seemed 
to  forget  the  grand  business  for  which  he  was  there.  With  all 
their  diversity  of  manner  and  disposition,  each  was  intent  on  the 
same  thing, — to  do  what  he  had  come  there  to  do.     Lasting  emi- 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   6HATEMUC.  135 

nence,  not  momentary  pre-eminence,  was  what  they  sought ;  and 
that  was  an  ambition  which  most  of  their  compeers  had  no  caro 
to  dispute  with  them. 

"  Poor  fellows  !  "  said  a  gay  young  money-purser ;  "  they  are 
working  hard,  I  suppose,  to  get  themselves  a  place  in  the  eye  of 
the  world." 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  President,  who  overheard  this  speech ; — 
"  and  they  will  by  and  by  be  where  you  can't  see  them." 

They  came  home  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  summer,  to  the  un- 
speakable rejoicing  of  the  whole  family ;  but  it  was  a  break  of 
light  in  a  cloudy  day ;  the  clouds  closed  again.  Only  now  and 
then  a  stray  sunbeam  of  a  letter  found  its  way  through. 

One  year  had  gone  since  the  boys  went  to  College,  and  it  was 
late  in  the  fall  again.  Mr.  Underbill,  who  had  been  on  a  jour- 
ney back  into  the  country,  came  over  one  morning  to  Mr.  Land- 
holm's. 

"  Good  morning  !  "  said  the  farmer.  "  Well,  you've  got 
back  from  your  journey  into  the  interior." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Underhill,— "  I've  got  back." 

"  How  did  you  find  things  looking,  out  there  ?  " 

"Middling; — their  winter  crops  are  higher  up  than  yours 
and  mine  be." 

"Ay.  I  suppose  they've  a  little  the  start  of  us  with  the  sun. 
X>id  you  come  through  Shagarack  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  stopped  there  a  night." 

"  I)id  you  see  my  boys  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  see  'em." 

"  Well — what  did  they  say  ?  "  said  the  father,  with  his  eye 
alive. 

"  Well— -not  much,"  said  Mr.  Underhill. 

"  They  were  well,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  First-rate — only  Winthrop  looked  to  me  as  if  he  was  workin' 
pretty  hard.  He's  poorer,  by  some  pDunds,  I  guess,  than  he  was 
when  he  was  to  hum  last  August." 

"  Didn't  he  look  as  usual  ?  "  said  the  father  with  a  smothered 
unxiety. 

"  There  wa'n't  no  other  change  in  him,  that  I  could  see,  of  no 
kind.  I  didn't  know  as  Rufus  was  going  to  know  who  I  was,  at 
first." 

"  He  hasn't  seen  much  of  you  for  some  time." 

"  No ;  and  folks  lose  their  memory,"  said  Mr.  Underhill.  "  I 
saw  the — what  do  you  call  him  ? — the  boss  of  the  concern — 
president ! — President  Tuttle.  I  saw  him  and  had  quite  a  talk 
with  him." 


136  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

"  The  president !  How  came  you  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  'taint  much  to  see  a  man,  I  s'pose, — is  it  ?  I  took  a 
notion  I'd  see  him.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  how  Will  and  Winthrop 
was  a  getting  along.     I  told  him  I  was  a  friend  o'  yourn." 

"  Well  did  you  ask  him  ?  " 

"Yes  I  did. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  said  Mr.  Landholm,  half  laughing. 

u  I  asked  him  how  they  were  getting  along." 

"  Ay,  and  what  did  he  answer  to  that  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  know  if  Mr.  Landholm  had  any  more  sons  ?  " 

"  Was  that  all  ?  "  said  the  farmer,  laughing  quite. 

"  That  was  the  hull  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  kink  of  his  eye 
that  wa'n't  too  big  a  sum  for  me  to  cast  up.  He  didn't  give  me 
no  more  satisfaction  than  that." 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  him — to  his  question  ?  " 

"I? — I  told  him  that  two  such  plants  took  a  mighty  sight 
of  room  to  grow,  and  that  the  hull  county  was  clean  used  up." 

"  You  did !  "  said  Mr.  Landholm  laughing  heartily.  "  Pretty 
well ! — pretty  good  ! — Have  some  tobacco,  neighbour  ?  " 

"  How  is  it  ?  "   said  Mr.  Underhill  taking  a  bunch  gravely. 

"  First-rate,— I  think.     Try." 

Which  Mr.  Underhill  did,  with  slow  and  careful  considera- 
tion.    Mr.  Landholm  watched  him  complacently. 

"  I've  seen  worse,"  he  remarked  dryly  at  length.  "  Where 
did  you  get  it,  squire  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  short  of  the  great  city,  neighbour.  It  came  from 
Mannahatta." 

"  Did,  hey  ?    Well,  I  reckon  it  might.     Will  you  trade  ?  " 

"  With  what  ?  "  said  Mr.  Landholm. 

"  Some  of  this  here." 

"With  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well — let's  hear,"  said  the  farmer. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  post  ought  to  be  paid  ?  "  said  Mr.  Un- 
derhill, diving  into  some  far-down  pockets. 

"  Why,  are  you  the  post  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  that  two  sealed  letters,  now,  would  be  worth 
a  leetle  box  o'  that  'ere  ?  " 

"  Have  you  brought  letters  from  the  boys  ?  " 

"  Well  I  don't  know  who  writ  'em,"  said  Mr.  Underhill  ;~ 
"  they  guv  'em  to  me." 

Mr.  Landholm  took  the  letters,  and  with  a  very  willing  face 
went  for  a  *  little  box '  which  he  filled  with  the  Mannahatta  tobacco. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  137 

"  Old  Cowslip  don't  keep  anything  like  this,"  Mr.  Underhill 
said  as  he  received  it  and  stowed  it  coolly  away  in  his  pocket. 
"  I  mean  to  shew  it  to  him." 

"  Will  you  stay  to  dinner,  neighbour  ?  " 

"  No  thank  'ee — I've  got  to  get  over  the  river ;  and  my  littlo 
woman'll  have  something  cooked  for  me ;  and  if  I  wa'n't  there 
to  eat  it  I  shouldn't  hear  the  last  of  my  wastefulness." 

"  Ay  ?  is  that  the  way  she  does  ?  "  said  Mr.  Landholm  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Something  like  it.     A  tight  grip,  I  tell  ye  !  " 

And  with  these  words  Mr.  Underhill  took  himself  out  of  the 
house. 

"  Where's  your  mother,  Asahel  ?  call  her  and  tell  her  what's 
here,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  as  he  broke  one  of  the  seals. 

"  Shagarack,  Dec.  3,  1810. 
"  My  dear  Parents, 

"  I  take  the  opportunity  of  friend  Underbill's  going  home 
to  send  you  a  word — I  can't  write  much  more  than  a  word,  I'm 
so  busy.  I  never  drove  my  plough  at  home  half  so  industriously 
as  now  I  am  trying  to  break  up  and  sow  the  barren  fields  of  mind. 
But  oh,  this  is  sweeter  labour  than  that.  How  shall  I  ever  repay 
you,  my  dear  father  and  dear  mother,  for  the  efforts  you  are  ma- 
king— and  enduring — to  give  me  this  blessing.  I  feel  them  to 
my  very  heart — I  know  them  much  better  than  from  your  words. 
And  perhaps  this  poor  return  of  words  is  all  I  shall  ever  be 
able  to  make  you, — when  it  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  I  could 
spill  my  very  heart  to  thank  you.  But  if  success  can  thank  you, 
you  shall  be  thanked.  I  feel  that  within  me  which  says  I  shall 
have  it.  Tell  mother  the  box  came  safe,  and  was  gladly  received. 
The  socks  &c.  are  as  nice  as  possible,  and  very  comfortable  this 
weather ;  and  the  mittens,  tell  Winnie,  are  like  no  other  mittens 
that  ever  were  knit ;  but  I  wish  I  could  have  hold  of  the  dear 
little  hands  that  knit  them  for  a  minute  instead — she  knows  what 
would  come  next. 

"  You  bid  me  say  if  I  want  anything — sometimes  I  think  I 
want  nothing  but  to  hear  from  you  a  little  oftener — or  to  see  you ! 
— that  would  be  too  pleasant.  But  I  am  doing  very  well,  though 
I  do  want  to  know  that  ma  is  not  working  so  hard.  I  shall  re- 
lieve pa  from  any  further  charge  of  me  after  this.  I  consulted 
the  President ;  and  he  has  given  me  a  form  in  the  grammar  school 
to  take  care  of — I  believe  pa  knows  there  is  a  grammar  school 
connected  with  the  Institution.     This  will  pay  my  bills,  and  to 


138  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

my  great  joy  relieve  my  father  from  doing  so  any  more.  This 
arrangement  leaves  me  but  half  of  the  usual  study  hours  (by 
day)  for  myself;  so  you  see  I  have  not  much  leisure  to  write  let 
terSj  and  must  close. 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  WlNTHROP  LANDHOLM. 

"  I  don't  forget  Asahel,  though  I  haven't  said  a  word  of  him ; 
and  give  my  love  to  Karen." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Landholm  looked  up  with  pleasant  faces  at 
each  other  and  exchanged  letters.  She  took  Winthrop's  and  her 
husband  began  upon  the  other,  which  was  from  Eufus.  Asahel 
and  Winifred  were  standing  anxiously  by. 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hear  directly." 

"  Does  he  say  any  thing  about  me  ?  "  said  Winifred. 

But  father  and  mother  were  deep  in  the  precious  despatches, 
and  the  answer  had  to  be  waited  for. 

"  Shagarack  College,  Dec.  1810. 
"  My  dear  friends  at  home, 

"  This  funny  little  man  says  he  will  take  letters 
to  you ; — so  as  it  is  a  pity  not  to  cultivate  any  good  disposition, 
Governor  and  I  have  determined  to  favour  him.  But  really  there 
is  not  much  to  write  about.  Our  prospects  are  as  bare  as  your 
garden  in  November — nothing  but  roots  above  ground  or  under — 
some  thrown  together,  and  some,  alas  !  to  be  dug  for ;  only  ours 
are  not  parsnips  and  carrots  but  a  particularly  tasteless  kind 
called  Greek  roots ;  with  a  variety  denominated  algebraic^  of 
which  there  are  quantities.  At  these  roots,  or  at  some  branches 
from  the  same,  Governor  and  I  are  tugging  as  for  dear  life,  so  it 
is  no  wonder  if  our  very  hands  smell  of  them.  I  am  sure  I  eat  them 
every  day  with  my  dinner,  and  ruminate  upon  them  afterwards. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  we  are  as  well  as  usuai.  Governor  is 
getting  along  splendidly ;  and  I  am  not  much  amiss ;  at  least  so  they 
say.  The  weather  is  pretty  stinging  these  few  days,  and  I  find 
father's  old  cloak  very  useful.  I  think  Winthrop  wants  something 
of  the  sort,  though  he  is  as  stiff  as  a  pine  tree,  bodily  and  men- 
tally, and  won't  own  that  he  wants  any  thing.  He  won't  want 
any  thing  long,  that  he  can  get.  He  is  working  confoundedly 
hard.  I  beg  mamma's  pardon — I  wouldn't  have  said  that  if  I 
had  thought  of  her — and  I  would  write  over  my  letter  now,  if  I 
were  not  short  of  time,  and  to  tell  truth,  of  paper.     This  is  my 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  139 

last  sheet,  and  a  villainous  bad  one  it  is ;  but  I  can't  get  any  bet- 
ter at  the  little  storekeeper's  here,  and  that  at  a  horridly  high 
price. 

"  As  Governor  is  writing  to  you,  he  will  give  you  all  the  sense, 
so  it  is  less  matter  that  there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  this  epistle. 
Only  believe  me,  my  dear  father  and  mother  and  Winnie  and 
Asahel,  ever  your  most  dutiful,  grateful,  and  affectionate  son  and 
brother, 

"  Will.  Rufus  Landholm. 

"  My  dear  mother,  the  box  was  most  acceptable." 

After  being  once  read  in  private,  the  letters  were  given  aloud 
to  the  children ;  and  then  studied  over  and  again  by  the  father 
and  mother  to  themselves.  Winifred  was  satisfied  with  the  men- 
tion of  her  name ;  notwithstanding  which,  she  sat  with  a  very 
wistful  face  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  She  was  longing  for  her 
brother's  hand  and  kiss. 

"  Have  your  brothers'  letters  made  you  feel  sober,  Winnie  ?  " 
said  her  mother. 

"  I  want  to  see  him,  mamma ! " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Governor. — " 

It  was  the  utmost  word  Winifred's  lips  could  speak. 

"  But  dear  Winnie,"  said  her  mother  sorrowfully,  "  it  is  for 
their  good  and  their  pleasure  they  are  away." 

"  I  know  it,  mamma, — I  know  I  am  very  selfish — " 

"  I  don't  think  you  are,"  said  her  mother.  "  Winnie,  remem- 
ber that  they  are  getting  knowledge  and  fitting  themselves  to  be 
better  and  stronger  men  than  they  could  be  if  they  lived  here 
and  learnt  nothing." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Winifred  looking  up  as  if  defining  her  posi- 
tion, "  I  don't  think  it  is  right,  but  I  can't  always  help  it." 

"  We  have  one  friend  never  far  off." 

"  Oh  mamma,  I  remember  that  all  the  while." 

"  Then  can't  you  look  happy  ?  " 

"  Not  always,  mamma,"  said  the  little  girl  covering  her  face 
quickly.     The  mother  stooped  down  and  put  her  arms  round  her. 

"  You  must  ask  him,  and  he  will  teach  you  to  be  happy  al- 
ways." 

"  But  I  can't,  mamma,  unless  I  could  be  right  always,"  said 
poor  Winifred. 

Mrs.  Landholm  was  silent,  but  kissed  her  with  those  soft 
motherly  kisses  which  had  comfort  and  love  in  every  touch  of 


14:0  THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMTTC. 

them.  Soon  answered,  for  Winifred  lifted  up  her  head  and  kissed 
her  again. 

"  How  much  longer  must  they  be  there,  mamma?  "  she  asked 
more  cheerfully. 

"Two  years,"  Mrs.  Landholm  answered,  with  a  sigh  that  he- 
longed  to  what  was  not  spoken. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Winifred  again  presently,  trying  not  to  shew 
from  how  deep  her  question  came,  "  aint  you  afraid  Winthrop 
wants  something  more  to  wear  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Landholm  did  not  shew  how  deep  the  question 
went,  but  she  said  lightly, 

"  We'll  see  about  it.  We'll  get  papa  to  write  and  make  him 
tell  us  what  he  wants." 

"  Maybe  he  won't  tell,"  said  Winifred  thoughtfully.  "  I  wish 
I  could  write." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  set  to  and  learn  ?  Nothing  would 
please  Governor  so  much." 

"  Would  it!  "  said  Winifred  with  a  brightened  face. 

"  Asahel,"  she  said,  as  Asahel  came  in  a  few  minutes  after, 
"  mamma  says  Governor  would  like  nothing  so  well  as  to  have  me 
learn  to  write." 

"  I  knew  that  before,"  said  Asahel  coolly.  "  He  was  talking 
to  me  last  summer  about  learning  you." 

"  Was  he  !     Then  will  you  Asahel  ?  Do  you  know  yourself?  " 

"  I  know  how  to  begin,"  said  Asahel. 

And  after  that  manj  a  sorrowful  feeling  was  wrought  into 
trammels  and  pothooks. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Bard.    On,  on,  on,  on,  on !  to  the  breach,  to  the  breach ! 

2fym.    Pray  thee,  corporal,  stay;  the  knocks  are  too  hot;  arc  for  mine  own  part,  I 
have  not  a  case  of  lives:  the  humour  of  it  is  too  hot,  that  is  the  very  plain-song  of  it 

King  Hknky  V. 

"  To  Mr.  Winthrop  Landholm,  Shagarack  College. 

"Dec.  10,  1810. 
"  My  dear  Son, 

"  We  received  yours  of  the  third,  per  Mr.  Underhill,  which 
was  very  gratifying  to  your  mother  and  myself,  as  also  Will's  of 
the  same  date.  We  cannot  help  wishing  we  could  hear  a  little 
oftener,  as  these  are  the  first  we  have  had  for  several  weeks.  But 
we  remember  your  occupations,  and  I  assure  you  make  due  al- 
lowances ;  yet  we  cannot  help  thinking  a  little  more  time  might 
be  given  to  pa  and  ma.  This  is  a  burdensome  world,  and  every 
one  must  bear  their  own  burdens ;  yet  I  think  it  must  be  con- 
ceded it  is  right  for  every  individual  to  do  what  may  be  in  his 
power  towards  making  the  lot  of  others  pleasanter.  This  I  am 
sure  you  believe,  for  you  act  upon  it ;  and  you  know  that  nothing 
so  lightens  our  load  as  to  know  that  Will  and  Governor  are  doing 
well.  It  is  a  world  of  uncertainties ;  and  we  cannot  know  this 
unless  you  will  tell  us. 

"  My  dear  sons,  I  do  not  mean  to  chide  you,  and  I  have  said 
more  on  this  subject  than  I  had  any  intention  to  do.  But  it  is 
very  natural,  when  a  subject  lies  so  near  the  heart,  that  I  should 
exceed  the  allotted  bounds. 

"  Winthrop,  your  mother  is  afraid,  from  something  in  WilPs 
letter,  that  you  are  in  want  of  an  overcoat.  Tell  us  if  you  are, 
and  we  will  do  our  best  to  endeavour  to  supply  the  deficiency.  I 
thought  you  had  one ;  but  I  suppose  it  must  be  pretty  old  by 
this  time.  My  dear  son,  we  have  all  one  interest ;  if  you  want 
anything,  let  us  know,  and  if  it  can  be  had  you  know  enough 
of  us  to  know  you  shall  not  want  it.     We  have  not  much  to  spare 


142  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

certainly,  but  necessaries  we  will  try  to  procure ;  and  so  long  as 
we  need  not  groan  about  the  present  it  is  not  my  way  to  grumble 
about  the  future.     We  shall  get  along,  somehow,  I  trust. 

"  I  shall  send  this  by  post,  as  I  do  not  know  of  any  opportu- 
nity, and  do  not  think  it  best  to  wait  for  one." 
"  Your  loving  father, 

"  W.  Landholm. 

"  WlNTHROP  AND  WlLL." 

u  My  dear  Boys, 

"  It  is  very  late  to-night,  and  I  shall  not  have  any  time 
in  the  morning,  so  must  scratch  a  word  as  well  as  I  can  to- 
night— you  know  my  fingers  are  not  very  well  accustomed  to 
handling  the  pen.  It  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure  I  can  have 
in  this  world  when  I  hear  that  you  are  getting  along  so  well — 
except  I  could  hear  one  other  thing  of  you, — and  that  would  be 
a  pleasure  beyond  anything  in  this  world.  Let  us  know  every- 
thing you  want — and  we  will  try  to  send  it  to  you,  and  if  we  can't 
we  will  all  want  it  together. — We  are  all  well — Winifred  mourns 
for  you  all  the  while,  in  spite  of  trying  not  to  do  it.  What  the 
rest  of  us  do  is  no  matter.  I  shall  send  a  box,  if  I  can,  before 
New  Year,  with  some  cakes  and  apples — write  us  before  that,  in 
time,  all  you  want  Your  Mother." 

This  double  letter,  being  duly  put  in  the  post  according  to 
Mr.  Landholm's  promise,  in  the  course  of  time  and  the  post  came 
safe  to  the  Shagarack  post-office ;  from  whence  it  was  drawn  one 
evening  by  its  owner,  and  carried  to  a  little  upper  room  where 
Rufus  sat,  or  rather  stood,  at  his  books.  There  was  not  a  great 
deal  there  beside  Rufus  and  the  books ;  a  little  iron  stove  looked 
as  if  it  disdained  to  make  anybody  comfortable,  and  hinted  that 
much  persuasion  was  not  tried  with  it ;  a  bed  was  in  one  corner, 
and  a  deal  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  at  which  Winthrop 
sat  down  and  read  his  letters. 

He  was  longer  over  them  than  was  necessary  to  read  them, 
by  a  good  deal.  So  Rufus  thought,  and  glanced  at  him  sundry 
times,  though  he  did  not  think  fit  to  interrupt  him.  He  lifted  his 
head  at, last  and  passing  them  over  coolly  to  Rufus,  drew  his 
book  near  and  opened  his  dictionary.  He  did  not  look  up  while 
Rufus  read,  nor  when  after  reading  he  began  to  walk  with 
thoughtful  large  strides  up  and  down  the  little  room. 

u  Governor ! "  said  Rufus  suddenly  and  without  looking  at 
him,  "  sometimes  I  am  half  tempted  to  think  I  will  take  Mr. 
Haye's  offer." 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEHUC.  14:3 

a  Did  he  make  you  an  offer  ?  " 

"  He  said  what  was  near  enough  to  it." 

«  What  tempts  you,  Will  ?  " 

"  Poverty.  It  is  only,  after  all,  taking  a  short  road  instead 
ot  <i  long  one  to  the  same  end." 

"  The  end  of  what  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Of  painstaking  and  struggling." 

There  was  silence,  during  which  Rufus  continued  his  strides 
through  the  room,  and  the  leaves  of  Winthrop's  books  ever  and 
anon  turned  and  rustled. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  believe  in  drinking  of  a  roiled  stream  because  it 
happens  to  be  the  first  one  you  come  to." 

"  Not  if  you  are  dry  ?  " 

"  No, — not  unless  everything  else  is,  too." 

"  But  merchandise  is  a  very  honourable  pursuit,"  said  Rufus, 
walking  and  studying  the  floor. 

"  Certainly. — Twelve  feet  is  a  good  growth  for  dogwood,  isn't 
it?"  said  Winthrop  gravely,  looking  up  and  meeting  his  cool 
grey  eye  with  that  of  his  brother. 

Rufus  first  stared,  and  then  answered,  and  then  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter.  Then  he  grew  quite  grave  again  and  went  on 
walking  up  and  down. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said  a  little  while  after, — "  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  I  am  fittest  for." 

"  You  would  be  fit  for  anything  if  you  did,"  answered  his 
brother. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  You  would  be  an  uncommonly  wise  man." 

"  You  might  be  that  with  very  little  trouble,  for  you  are  the 
fittest  for  everything  of  anybody  I  know." 

Winthrop  studied  his  books,  and  Rufus  walked  perseveringly. 

"  You  hold  to  taking  up  law  ?  " 

"  I  will,  when  I  begin  it,"  said  Winthrop. 

"Where?" 

"Where  what?" 

"  Where  will  you  take  it  up  ?  " 

"  In  Mannahatta." 

"  And  then  you  will  rise  to  the  top  of  the  tree ! "  said  his 
brother  half  admiringly,  half  sadly. 

"  That  I  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  you  in  the  top  of  some  other 
tree,"  said  Winthrop. 


144:  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

"  But  tliis  want  of  money  is  such  a  confounded  drag ! "  said 
Rufus  after  a  few  minutes. 

"  Let  it  drag  you  up  hill,  then.  A  loaded  arrow  flies  best 
against  the  wind." 

"  Winthrop,  I  wonder  what  you  are  made  of ! "  said  Rufus 
stopping  short  and  looking  at  him  and  his  books.  "  The  toughest, 
the  sturdiest " 

But  Winthrop  lifted  up  his  face  and  gave  his  brother  one  of 
those  smiles,  which  were  somewhat  as  if  the  sturdy  young  ash 
to  which  he  likened  him  had  of  a  sudden  put  forth  its  flowers 
and  made  one  forget  its  strength  in  its  beauty.  Rufus  stopped, 
and  smiled  a  little  himself. 

"  My  choice  would  be  engineering,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

"  Stick  to  your  choice,"  said  "Winthrop. 

"  That's  a  very  good  business  for  making  money,"  Rufus  went 
on,  beginning  to  walk  again ; — "  and  there  is  a  variety  about  it  I 
should  like." 

"  Are  you  in  correspondence  with  Mr.  Haye  ?  " 

"No.     Why?" 

"  You  seem  to  be  adopting  his  end  of  life." 

"I  tell  you,  Winthrop,"  said  Rufus  stopping  short  again, 
"  whatever  else  you  may  have  is  of  very  little  consequence  if  you 
haven't  money  with  it !  You  may  raise  your  head  like  Mont 
Blanc,  above  the  rest  of  the  world ;  and  if  you  have  nothing  to 
shew  but  your  eminence,  people  will  look  at  you,  and  go  and  live 
somewhere  else." 

"  You  don't  see  the  snow  yet,  do  you  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  so 
dryly  that  Rufus  laughed  again,  and  drawing  to  him  his  book  sat 
down  and  left  his  brother  to  study  in  peace. 

The  peace  was  not  of  long  lasting,  for  at  the  end  of  half  or 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  Winthrop  had  another  interruption. 
The  door  opened  briskly  and  there  came  in  a  young  man, — hardly 
that, — a  boy,  but  manly,  well  grown,  fine  and  fresh  featured,  all 
alive  in  spirits  and  intellect.  He  came  in  with  a  rush,  acknow- 
ledged Rufus's  presence  slightly,  and  drawing  a  stool  close  by 
Winthrop,  bent  his  head  in  yet  closer  neighbourhood.  The  col- 
loquy which  followed  was  carried  on  half  under  breath,  on  his 
part,  but  with  great  eagerness. 

"  Governor,  I  want  you  to  go  home  with  me  Christmas." 

"  I  can't,  Bob." 

"  Why  ?  " 

Winthrop  answered  with  soft  whistling. 

"Why?" 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  14:5 

"  I  must  work." 

"  You  can  work  there." 

"  No  I  can't." 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  must  work  here." 

"  You  can  work  afterwards." 

"  Yes,  I  expect  to." 

"  But  Governor,  what  have  you  got  to  keep  you  ?  " 

"  Some  old  gentlemen  who  lived  in  learned  times  a  great 
while  ago,  are  very  pressing  in  their  desires  to  be  acquainted 
with  me — one  Plato,  one  Thucydides,  and  one  Mr.  Tacitus,  for 
instance." 

"  You'll  see  enough  of  them,  Governor ; — you  don't  like  them 
better  than  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Bob, — I  expect  they'll  do  more  for  me  than  ever  you 
will." 

"  I'll  do  a  great  deal  for  you,  Governor, — I  want  you  to  come 
with  me  to  Coldstream — I  want  you  to  see  them  all  at  home ; 
we'll  have  a  good  time. — Come !  " 

"  How  do  you  suppose  that  old  heathen  ever  got  hold  of  such 
a  thought  as  this  ?  " — said  Winthrop  composedly ;  and  he  read, 
without  minding  his  auditors 

f  Tts  8'  olScv,   et  to  tfiv  fX€v  cart  KarSaveiv, 
To   KarSaveiv  $€.  £rjv  ;  "  * 

"  Who  knoivs  if  to  live  is  not  to  die,  and  dying  hut  to  live" 

"  I  should  think  he  had  a  bad  time  in  this  world,  "  said  Bob ; 
"  and  maybe  he  thought  Apollo  would  make  interest  for  his  verses 
in  the  land  of  shades." 

u  But  Plato  echoes  the  sentiment, — look  here, — and  he  was  no 
believer  in  the  old  system.  Where  do  you  suppose  lie  got  his 
light  on  the  subject  ?  " 

"  Out  of  a  dark  lantern.  I  say,  Winthrop,  I  want  light  on 
my  subject — Will  you  come  to  Coldstream  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  any  light  that  way,  Bob ; — I  must  stick  fast  by 
my  dark  lantern." 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  in  Shagarack  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


*  Banyan  used  to  say,  "  The  Latin  I  borrow."     I  must  follow  so  illustrious 
en  example  and  confess,   The  Greek  is  lent. 

7 


146  THE    HILLS    OF    TnE     SIIATEMUC. 

"  It's  a  deuced  shame ! — " 

"  What  do  you  make  of  this  sentence,  Mr.  Cool  ?- 


But  Bob  declined  to  construe,  and  took  himself  off,  with  a 
hearty  slap  on  Winthrop's  shoulder,  and  a  hearty  shake  of  his 
hand. 

"  He's  so  strong,  there's  no  use  in  trying  to  fight  him  into 
reason,"  he  remarked  to  Bufus  as  he  went  off. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Bob  Cool  would  make  of  your 
Platonic  quotation  ?  "  said  Bufus. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  "  said  Winthrop  after  a  slight 
pause. 

"  Eremitical  philosophy ! — Do  you  admire  it  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  mamma  would,"  said  Winthrop. 

That  year  came  to  its  end,  not  only  the  solar  but  the  collegi- 
ate. Bufus  took  his  degree  brilliantly ;  was  loaded  with  compli- 
ments ;  went  to  spend  a  while  at  home,  and  then  went  to  Manna- 
hatta ;  to  make  some  preparatory  arrangements  for  entering  upon 
a  piece  of  employment  to  which  President  Tuttle  had  kindly 
opened  him  a  way.  Winthrop  changed  his  form  in  the  grammar 
school  for  the  Junior  Greek  class,  which  happened  to  be  left  with- 
out any  teacher  by  the  removal  of  the  Greek  professor  to  the 
headship  of  another  College.  To  this  charge  he  proved  himself 
fully  competent.  It  made  the  same  breaches  upon  his  time,  and 
gave  him  rather  more  amends  than  his  form  in  the  grammaj 
school.  And  amid  his  various  occupations,  Winthrop  probably 
kept  himself  warm  without  a  new  overcoat;  for  he  had  none. 

It  was  difficult  at  home,  by  this  time,  to  do  more  than  make 
ends  meet.  They  hardly  did  that.  The  borrowed  hundreds 
were  of  necessity  yet  unpaid ;  there  was  interest  on  them  that 
must  be  kept  down ;  and  the  failure  of  Bufus  and  Winthrop  from 
the  farm  duty  told  severely  upon  the  profits  of  the  farm ;  and 
that  after  it  had  told  upon  the  energies  and  strength  of  the  whole 
little  family  that  were  left  behind  to  do  all  that  was  done.  There 
was  never  a  complaint  nor  a  regret,  even  to  each  other ;  much 
less  to  those  for  whom  they  toiled ;  but  often  there  was  a  shad- 
owed look,  a  breath  of  weariness  and  care,  that  spoke  from  hus- 
band to  wife,  from  parent  to  child,  and  nerved — or  unnerved 
them.  Still,  Bufus  had  graduated ;  he  was  a  splendid  young 
man ;  all,  as  well  as  the  parents'  hearts,  knew  that ;  and  Win- 
throp,  he  was  never  thought  of,  their  minds  and  speech  never 

went  out  to  him,  but  the  brows  unbent,  the  lips  relaxed,  and 
their  eyes  said  that  their  hearts  sat  down  to  rest.  Winthrop  ? 
He  never  could  do  anything  but  well;    he  never  had  since  ho 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTJC.  147 

was  a  child.  He  would  take  his  degree  now  in  a  few  months  and 
lie  would  take  it  honourably ;  and  then  he  would  be  off  to  the 
great  city — that  was  said  with  a  throe  of  pain  and  joy  ! — and 
there  he  would  certainly  rise  to  be  the  greatest  of  all.  To  their 
eyes  could  he  ever  be  anything  else  ?  But  they  were  as  certain 
of  it  as  Winthrop  himself;  and  Winthrop  was  not  without  his 
share  of  that  quality  which  Dr.  Johnson  declared  to  be  the  first 
requisite  to  great  undertakings ;  though  to  do  him  justice  the 
matter  always  lay  in  his  mind  without  the  use  of  comparatives  or 
superlatives.  And  while  they  sat  round  the  fire  talking  of  him, 
and  of  Rufus,  the  images  of  their  coming  success  quite  displaced 
the  images  of  weary  days  and  careful  nights  with  which  that  suc- 
cess had  been  bought. 

It  was  not  however  to  be  quite  so  speedily  attained  as  they 
had  looked  for. 

The  time  of  examination  came,  and  Winthrop  passed  through 
it,  as  President  Tuttle  told  his  father,  "  as  well  as  a  man  could ;  " 
and  took  honours  and  distinctions  with  a  calm  matter-of  fact  man- 
ner, that  somehow  rather  damped  the  ardour  of  congratulation. 

"  He  takes  everything  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  it,"  observed  a 
gentleman  of  the  company  who  had  been  making  some  flattering 
speeches  whidh  seemed  to  hit  no  particular  mark. 

"  I  don't  know  who  has  a  better  right,"  said  the  President. 

"  He's  not  so  brilliant  as  his  brother,"  the  gentleman  went  on. 
•  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  That  can  only  have  been  because  you 
did  not  understand  him,"  said  the  President  equivocally.  "  He 
will  never  flash  in  the  pan,  I  promise  you." 

"  But  dang  it,  sir  !  "  cried  the  other,  "  it  is  a  little  extraordi- 
nary to  see  two  brothers,  out  of  the  same  family,  for  two  years 
running,  take  the  first  honours  over  the  head  of  the  whole  Col- 
lege.    What  is  a  man  to  think,  sir  ?  " 

"  That  the  College  has  not  graduated  two  young  men  with 
more  honour  to  herself  and  them  in  any  two  years  of  my  Presi- 
dency, sir.  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  the  fortunate  father 
of  these  young  gentlemen — Mr.  Landholm." 

This  story  Mr.  Landholm  used  afterwards  often  to  repeat, 
with  infinite  delight  and  exultation. 

Rufus  was  not  at  Shagara  3k  at  this  time.  Instead  thereof 
came  a  letter. 

"  Mannaiiaita,  Aug.  2G,  1812. 
"  My  dear  Governor, 

"  It  has  cost  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  that 
I  have  not  been  able  to  witness  your  triumph.     Nothing  could 


148  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SIIATEMUC. 

hinder  my  sharing  it.  I  shared  it  even  before  I  heard  a  word  of 
it.  I  shared  it  all  last  week,  while  the  scenes  were  enacting ;  hut 
when  papa's  letter  came,  it  made  an  old  hoy  of  me — I  would 
have  thrown  off  my  hat  and  hurrahed,  if  I  had  not  been  afraid 
to  trust  four  walls  with  my  feelings ;  and  I  finally  took  up  with 
the  safer  indulgence  of  some  very  sweet  tears.  I  told  you  it  cost 
me  a  great  deal  to  stay  away  from  Shagarack.  My  sole  reason 
for  staying  was,  that  it  would  have  cost  me  more  to  go.  The 
fact  is,  I  had  not  the  wherewithal — a  most  stupid  reason,  but  for 
that  very  cause,  a  reason  that  you  cannot  argue  with.  I  am  just 
clearing  for  the  North — but  not,  alas!  your  way — and  I  could 
not  take  out  of  my  little  funds  what  would  carry  me  to  Shaga- 
rack and  back ;  and  back  I  should  have  had  to  come.  So  I  have 
lost  what  would  have  been  one  of  the  rare  joys  of  my  life.  But 
I  shall  have  another  chance. — This  is  but  yo\xr  first  degree,  Gov- 
ernor;— your  initial  step  towards  great  things;  and  you  are 
not  one  to  lag  by  the  way. 

"  As  for  me,  I  am  off  to  the  regions  of  wildness,  to  see  what 
I  can  do  with  the  rocks  and  the  hills  of  rude  Nature — or  what  they 
will  do  with  me,  which  is  perhaps  nearer  the  truth.  Not  very 
inviting,  after  this  gay  and  brilliant  city,  where  certainly  the  soci- 
ety is  very  bewitching.  I  have  happened  to  see  a  ^food  deal,  and 
some  of  the  best  of  it.  Mr.  Haye  has  been  very  attentive  to  me, 
and  I  believe  would  really  like  to  renew  his  old  offer.  He  lives 
here  en  prince  ;  with  every  thing  to  make  his  house  attractive 
besides  the  two  little  princesses  who  tenant  it ;  and  who  make  it 
I  think  the  pleasantest  house  in  Mannahatta.  Your  friend  is 
amazingly  improved,  though  she  is  rather  more  of  a  Queen  than 
a  princess ;  but  the  other  is  the  most  splendid  little  creature  I 
ever  saw.  They  were  very  gracious  to  your  humble  servant.  I 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  them  and  like  them  better  and  better. 
Herder  is  charming.  He  has  introduced  me  to  a  capital  set — 
men  really  worth  knowing — they  have  also  been  very  kind  to  me, 
and  I  have  enjoyed  them  greatly ; — but  from  all  this  I  am  obliged 
to  break  away, — and  from  you ;  for  I  have  no  more  room.  I 
will  write  you  when  I  get  to  the  N.  W.  L. 

"  P.  S.  When  you  come  hither,  take  up  your  quarters  with 
my  landlord,  George  Inchbald — cor.  Beaver  and  Little  South 
Sts.  He  loves  me  and  will  welcome  you.  Inchbald  is  an  Eng- 
lishman, with  a  heart  larger  than  his  means,  and  a  very  kind  wid- 
owed sister." 

Winthrop  read  this  letter  gravely  through,  folded  it  up,  and 
took  hold  of  the  next  business  in  hand. 


7  HE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTTC.  14:9 

He  could  not  go  yet  to  the  great  city.  The  future  rising 
steps  to  which  Rufus  looked  forward  so  confidently,  were  yet  far 
away.  He  owed  a  bill  at  the  tailor's ;  and  had  besides  one  or 
two  other  little  accounts  unsettled,  which  it  had  been  impossible 
to  avoid,  and  was  now  impossible  to  leave.  Therefore  he  must 
not  leave  Shagarack.  The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  clear  these 
hindrances  from  his  way.  So  he  entered  his  name  as  law-reader 
at  the  little  ofiice  of  Mr.  Shamminy,  to  save  time,  and  took  a  tutor- 
ship in  the  College  to  earn  money.  He  had  the  tutorship  of  the 
Junior  Greek  class,  which  his  father  loved  to  tell  he  carried  fur- 
ther than  ever  a  class  had  been  carried  before ;  but  that  was  not 
all ;  he  had  a  number  of  other  recitations  to  attend  which  left 
him,  with  the  necessary  studies,  scant  time  for  reading  law.  That 
little  was  made  the  most  of  and  the  year  was  gained. 

All  the  year  was  needed  to  free  himself  from  these  cobweb 
bindings  that  held  him  fast  at  Shagarack.  Another  Commence- 
ment over,  his  debts  paid,  he  went  home ;  to  make  a  little  pause 
on  that  landing-place  of  life's  journey  before  taking  his  last  start 
from  it. 


CHAPTER    XT. 

% 

I  turn  to  go :  my  feet  are  set 

To  leave  the  pleasant  fields  and  farms: 
They  mix  in  one  another's  arms 

To  one  pure  image  of  regret. 

Tennyson. 

That  little  space  of  time  was  an  exceeding  sweet  one.  Gov- 
ernor was  at  home  again, — and  Governor  was  going  away  again. 
If  anything  had  been  needed  to  enhance  his  preciousness,  those 
two  little  facts  would  have  done  it.  Such  an  idea  entered  no- 
body's head.  He  was  the  very  same  Winthrop,  they  all  said, 
that  had  left  them  four  years  ago ;  only  taller,  and  stronger,  and 
handsomer.  ^ 

"  He's  a  beautiful  strong  man !  "  said  Karen,  stopping  in  the 
act  of  rolling  her  cakes,  to  peer  at  him  out  of  the  kitchen  window. 
"  Aint  he  a  handsome  feller,  Mis'  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,  Karen." 

"  Don't  he  do  handsome  ?  "  said  Karen,  flouring  her  roller. 
"  His  mother  knows  he  does,  I  wish  I  knowed  my  shortcake  'd 
be  arter  the  same  patcern." 

Winthrop  pulled  off  his  coat  and  went  into  the  fields  as 
heartily  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  but  farming  all  his  days ;  and 
harvests  that  autumn  came  cheerily  in.  The  corn  seemed  yel- 
lower and  the  apples  redder  than  they  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
Asahel,  now  a  fine  boy  of  fifteen,  was  good  aid  in  whatever  was 
going  on,  without  or  within  doors.  Rufus  wrote  cheerfully  from 
the  North,  where  he  still  was ;  and  there  was  hardly  a  drawback 
to  the  enjoyment  of  the  little  family  at  home. 

There  was  one ;  and  as  often  happens  it  had  grown  out  of  the 
family's  greatest  delight.  "Winifred  was  not  the  Winifred  of 
former  days.  The  rosy-choeked,  fat,  laughing  little  roll-about  of  five 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  151 

years  old,  had  changed  by  degrees  into  a  slim,  pale,  very  delicate- 
looking  child  of  twelve.  Great  nervous  irritability,  and  weak- 
ness, they  feared  of  the  spine,  had  displaced  the  jocund  health 
and  sweet  spirits  which  never  knew  a  cloud.  It  was  a  burden  to 
them  all,  the  change ;  and  yet — so  strangely  things  are  tempered 
— the  affections  mustered  round  the  family  hearth  to  hide  or  re- 
pair the  damage  disease  had  done  there,  till  it  could  scarcely  be 
said  to  be  poorer  or  worse  off  than  before.  There  did  come  a 
pang  to  every  heart  but  Winifred's  own,  when  they  looked  upon 
her ;  but  with  that  rose  so  sweet  and  rare  charities,  blessing  both 
the  giver  and  the  receiver,  that  neither  perhaps  was  less  blessed 
than  of  old.  Winthrop  s  face  never  shewed  that  there  was  any- 
thing at  home  to  trouble  him,  unless  at  times  when  Winifred  was 
not  near ;  his  voice  never  changed  from  its  cool  cheerfulness ;  and 
yet  his  voice  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  her,  and  his  face  Winifred 
lived  upon  all  the  while  he  was  at  home.  He  never  seemed  to 
know  that  she  was  weaker  than  she  used  to  be  ;  but  his  arm  was 
always  round  her,  or  it  might  be  under  her,  whenever  need  was ; 
and  to  be  helped  by  his  strength  was  more  pleasant  to  Winifred 
than  to  have  strength  of  her  own. 

She  was  sitting  on  his  knee  one  day,  and  they  were  picking 
out  nuts  together ;  when  she  looked  up  and  spoke,  as  if  the  words 
could  not  be  kept  in. 

"  What  shall  I  do  when  you  are  gone  ! " 

"  Help  mother,  and  keep  Asahel  in  spirits." 

Winifred  could  not  help  laughing  a  little  at  this  idea. 

"  I  wonder  if  anything  could  trouble  Asahel  much,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  his  weak  point — like  the  rest  of  us,"  said 
Winthrop. 

"  You  haven't." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  so, '  said  Winifred,  touching  her 
hand  to  his  cheek,  and  then  kissing  him. 

"  What's  your  weak  point  ?  " 

"  They're  all  over,"  said  Winifred,  with  a  little  change  of 
voice ;  "  I  haven't  a  bit  of  strength  about  anything.  I  don't  think 
anybody's  weak  but  me." 

"  Nobody  ought  to  be  weak  but  you,"  said  her  brother,  with 
no  change  in  his. 

'"I  oughtn't  to  be  weak,"  said  Winifred;  "but  I  can't 
help  it." 

"It  doesn't  matter,  Wrinnie,"  said  her  brother;  "you  shall 
have  the  advantage  of  the  strength  of  all  the  rest." 


152  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  That  wouldn't  be  enough,"  said  "Winifred,  gently  leaning 
her  head  upon  the  broad  breast  which  she  knew  was  hers  for 
strength  and  defence. 

"  Not,  Winnie  ?— What  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  I'll  have  the  Bible,"  said  the  child,  her  thin  intelligent  face 
looking  at  him  with  all  its  intelligence. 

"  The  Bible,  Winnie  ?  "  said  Winthrop  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  because  there  I  can  get  strength  that  isn't  my  own 
and  that  is  better  than  yours,  or  anybody's." 

"  That's  true,  Winnie ;  but  what  do  you  want  so  mucL 
strength  for  ?  "  he  said  coolly. 

She  looked  at  him  again,  a  look  very  hard  indeed  to  bear. 

"01  know,  Winthrop,"  she  said ; — "  I  want  it. — I  want  it 
now  for  your  going  away." 

Her  voice  was  a  little  checked,  and  again  she  leaned  forward 
upon  him,  this  time  so  as  to  hide  her  face. 

Winthrop  set  down  the  nuts  and.  drew  her  more  close,  and 
his  lips  kissed  the  little  blue  and  white  temple  which  was  all  of 
her  face  he  could  get  at. 

"  It's  best  I  should  go,  Winnie,"  he  said. 

"01  know  you  must." 

"  I  will  have  a  house  one  of  these  days  and  you  shall  come 
and  keep  it  for  me." 

She  sat  up  and  shook  away  a  tear  or  two,  and  laughed,  but 
her  speech  was  not  as  jocular  as  she  meant  it  to  be. 

"  What  a  funny  housekeeper  I  should  make !  " 

"  The  best  in  the  world.  You  shall  study,  and  I  will  knit 
the  socks." 

"  O  Governor !     What  do  you  know  about  knitting  socks  ?  " 

"  I  know  who  has  knit  mine  ever  since  I  have  been  at  Shaga- 
rack." 

"  Did  mamma  tell  you  ? "  said  the  child  with  a  bright  sharp 
glance. 

"  I  found  it  out." 

"  And  were  they  all  right  ?  Because  I  am  going  to  keep  on 
doing  it,  Governor." 

"  Till  you  come  to  be  my  housekeeper." 

"  I  don't  believe  that'll  ever  be,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  It  seems  so  funny,  to  think  of  your  ever  having  a  house  in 
Mannahatta !  " 

"  Will  you  come,  Winnie  ?  " 

"  O  Governor ! 1  dont  know,"  she  said,  her  face  full  of  a 

world  of  uncertainties. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUO.  153 

"  What  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing;  and  yon  don't.     0  Governor  " 

and  she  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  spoke  words  coined 
out  of  her  heart, — "  I  wish  you  were  a  Christian ! " 

For  a  minute  only  he  did  not  speak ;  and  then  he  said  calmly 
in  her  ear, 

"  I  shall  be — I  mean  to  be  one,  Winnie." 

Her  little  head  lay  very  still  and  silent  a  few  minutes  more ; 
and  when  she  lifted  it  she  did  not  carry  on  the  subject ;  unless 
the  kisses  she  gave  him,  only  too  strong  in  their  meaning,  might 
be  interpreted. 

"  I  should  feel  so  much  better  if  you  knew  somebody  in  Man- 
nahatta,"  she  said  presently. 

"  I  do.     I  know  Mr.  Herder." 

"  0  yes ;  but  I  mean  more  than  that ;  somebody  where  you 
could  stay  and  be  nice." 

"  I  shall  not  stay  where  I  cannot  be  nice." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Winifred;  "but  you  don't  know  any- 
where to  go,  do  you?  " 

"  Yes.     Uncle  Forriner's." 

"  Uncle  Forriner. You  don't  know  him,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Maybe  you  won't  like  him." 

"  Then  it  will  matter  the  less  about  his  liking  me." 

"  He  can't  help  that,"  said  Winifred. 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"  But  Rufus  didn't  stay  with  him  ?  " 

"  No — Mr.  Forriner  only  moved  to  Mannahatta  about  a  year 
ago." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Aunt  Forriner  ? 

"  Yes — once." 

«  Well— is  she  good  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  You  don't  know,  Governor  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  Winnie." 

Winifred  waited  a  little. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Governor,  when  you  first  get 
there  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  the  first  thing  will  be  to  go  and  examine  Uncle 
Forriner  and  see  if  I  like  him." 

Winifred  laughed. 


154  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

"  No,  no,  but  I  mean  business — what  you  are  going  to  Man- 
nahatta  for- — what  will  be  the  first  thing  ?  " 

"  To  shew  myself  to  Mr.  De  Wort." 

« Who's  he?" 

'*  He  is  a  lawyer  in  Mannahatta." 

"  Do  you  know  where   he  lives  ?  " 

u  No,  Winnie ;  but  other  people  do." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  see  him  for,  Governor  ?  " 

"  To  ask  him  if  he  will  let  me  read  law  in  his  office." 

"  Will  he  want  to  be  paid  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Suppose  he  should,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Then  I  will  pay  him,  Winifred." 

"  How  can  you  ?  " 

Her  brother  smiled  a  little.  "  My  eyes  are  not  far-sighted 
enough  to  tell  you,  Winnie.     I  can  only  give  you  the  fact." 

Winifred  smiled  too,  but  in  her  heart  believed  him. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  De  Wort  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Then  what  makes  you  choose  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  said  to  be  the  best  lawyer  in  the  city." 

Winifred  put  her  fingers  thoughtfully  through  and  through 
the  short  dark  wavy  brown  hair  which  graced  her  brother's  broad 
brow,  and  wondered  with  herself  whether  there  would  not  be  a 
better  lawyer  in  the  city  before  long.  And  then  in  a  sweet  kind 
of  security  laid  her  head  down  again  upon  his  breast. 

"  I'll  have  a  house  for  you  there,  by  and  by,  Winnie,"  he 
said,  as  his  arm  drew  round  her. 

aOI  couldn't  leave  mother,  you  know,"  she  answered. 

Her  mother  called  her  at  this  instant,  and  she  ran  off,  leav- 
ing him  alone. 

He  had  spoken  to  her  all  the  while  with  no  change  on  his 
wonted  calm  brow  and  lip ;  but  when  she  left  the  room  he  left  it ; 
and  wandering  down  to  some  hiding  place  on  the  rocky  shore, 
where  only  the  silent  cedars  stood  witnesses,  he  wept  there  till  his 
strong  frame  shook,  with  what  he  no  more  than  the  rocks  would 
shew  anywhere  else.  It  never  was  shewn.  He  was  just  as  he  had 
been.  Nobody  guessed,  unless  his  mother,  the  feeling  that  had 
wrought  and  was  working  within  him ;  and  she  only  from  general 
knowledge  of  his  nature.  But  the  purpose  of  life  had  grown  yet 
stronger  and  struck  yet  deeper  roots  instead  of  being  shaken  by 
this  storm.  The  day  of  his  setting  off  for  Mannahatta  was  not 
once  changed  after  it  had  been  once  fixed  upon. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  155 

And  it  came.  Almost  at  the  end  of  November ;  a  true  child 
of  the  month ;  it  was  dark,  chill,  gloomy.  The  wind  bore  little 
foretokens  of  rain  in  every  puff  that  made  its  way  up  the  river, 
slowly,  as  if  the  sea  had  charged  it  too  heavily,  or  as  if  it  came 
through  the  fringe  of  the  low  grey  cloud  which  hung  upon  the  tops 
of  the  mountains.  But  nobody  spoke  of  Winthrop's  staying  his 
journey.  Perhaps  everybody  thought,  that  the  day  before,  and 
the  night  before,  and  so  much  of  the  morning,  it  were  better  not 
to  go  over  again. 

"  Hi ! "  sighed  old  Karen,  as  she  took  the  coffee-pot  off  the 
hearth  and  wiped  the  ashes  from  it, — u  it's  a  heavy  place  for  our 
feet,  just  this  here; — I  wonder  why  the  Lord  sends  'em.  He 
knows." 

"Why  he  sends  what,  Karen?"  said  "Winifred,  taking  the 
coffee-pot  from  her,  and  waiting  to  hear  the  answer. 

"  Oh  go  'long,  dear,"  said  the  old  woman ; — "  I  was  quarrel- 
ling with  the  Lord's  doings,  that's  all." 

"  He  knows ! "  repeated  Winnie,  turning  away  and  bending 
her  face  down  till  hot  tears  fell  on  the  cover  of  the  coffee-pot 
She  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  keeping-room  and  fought  the  tears 
with  her  little  hand  desperately,  for  they  were  too  ready  to  come ; 
once  and  again  the  hand  was  passed  hard  over  cheeks  and  eyes, 
before  it  would  do  and  she  could  open  the  door. 

"  Well  mother,"  said  Mr.  Landholm,  coming  back  from  a 
look  at  the  weather, — "  let's  see  what  comfort  can  be  got  out  of 
breakfast !  " 

None,  that  morning.  It  was  but  a  sham,  the  biscuits  and 
coffee.  They  were  all  feeding  on  the  fruits  of  life-trials,  strug- 
gles and  cares,  past  and  coming ;  and  though  some  wild  grown 
flowers  of  hope  mingled  their  sweetness  with  the  harsh  things, 
they  could  not  hide  nor  smother  the  taste  of  them.  That  taste 
was  in  Mr.  Landholm's  coffee ;  the  way  in  which  he  set  down 
the  cup  and  put  the  spoon  in,  said  so ;  it  was  in  Winthrop's 
biscuit,  for  they  were  broken  and  not  eaten ;  it  seemed  to  be  in 
the  very  light,  to  Winifred's  eyes,  by  the  wistful  unmarking  look 
she  gave  to  everything  the  light  shined  upon. 

It  was  over ;  and  Mrs.  Landholm  had  risen  from  the  tea- 
board  and  stood  by  the  window.  There  Winthrop  parted  from 
her,  after  some  tremulous  kisses,  and  with  only  the  low,  short, 
"  Good  bye,  mother  !  "  'He  turned  to  meet  the  arms  of  his  little 
sister,  which  held  him  like  some  precious  thing  that  they  might 
not  hold.  It  was  hard  to  bear,  but  ho  bore  it ;  till  she  snatched 
her  arms  away  from  his  neck  and  ran  out  of  the  room.     Yet  she 


156  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    BHATEMUC. 

had  not  bid  him  good  bye  and  be  stood  in  doubt,  looking  after 
ber.     Then  remembered  Karen. 

He  went  into  the  kitchen  and  shook  the  old  shrivelled  hand 
which  was  associated  in  his  memory  with  many  an  old  act  of  kind- 
ness, many  a  time  of  help  in  days  of  need. 

"  Good  bye,  Karen." 

"  Well — good  bye, — "  said  the  old  woman  slowly,  and  hold- 
ing his  hand.  "  I  sometimes  wonder  what  ever  you  were  brought 
into  the  world  for,  Mr.  Winthrop." 

"Why,  Karen?" 

"  Because  I  aint  much  better  than  a  fool,"  she  said,  putting 
her  other  hand  to  her  eyes.  "  But  ye're  one  of  the  Lord's  pre- 
cious ones,  Governor;  he  will  have  service  of  ye,  wherever 
ye  be." 

Winthrop  wrung  her  hand.  Quitting  her,  he  saw  his  sister 
waiting  for  him  at  the  kitchen  door.  She  let  him  come  withiD 
it,  and  then  holding  up  her  Bible  which  had  hung  in  one  hand 
she  pointed  with  her  finger  to  these  words  where  she  had  it 
open ; — 

"  God  now  commandeth  all  men  everywhere  to  repent." 

Her  finger  was  under  the  word  '■now?  She  added  nothing 
except  with  her  eyes,  which  went  wistfully,  searchingly,  beggingly 
into  his ;  till  a  film  of  tears  gathered,  and  the  book  fell,  and  he* 
arms  went  round  him  again  and  her  face  was  hid. 

"  I  know,  dear  Winnie,"  he  said  softly,  stooping  to  her  aftei 
the  silent  embrace  had  lasted  a  minute. — u  I  must  go — kiss  me." 

There  was  a  great  deal  in  her  kiss,  of  hope  and  despair ;  and 
then  he  was  gone ;  and  she  stood  at  the  window  looking  after  him 
as  long  as  a  bit  of  him  could  be  seen ;  clearing  away  the  tears 
from  her  eyes  that  she  might  watch  the  little  black  speck  of  the 
boat,  as  it  grew  less  and  less,  further  and  further  off  down  the 
river.     Little  speck  as  it  was,  he  was  in  it. 

The  world  seemed  to  grow  dark  as  she  looked, — in  two  ways. 
The  heavy  rain  clouds  that  covered  the  sky  stooped  lower  down  and 
hung  their  grey  drapery  on  the  mountains  more  thick  and  dark. 
But  it  did  not  rain  yet,  nor  till  Winifred  turned  wearily  away 
from  the  window,  saying  that  "  they  had  got  there ;  " — meaning 
that  the  little  black  speck  on  the  water  had  reached  the  little  white 
and  brown  spot  on  the  shore  which  marked  the  place  of  Cowslip's 
Mill.  Then  the  clouds  began  to  fringe  themselves  off  into  rain, 
and  Cowslip's  Mill  was  soon  hid,  and  river  and  hills  were  all 
grey  under  their  thick  watery  veil.  "  But  Governor  will  be  in 
the  stage,  mamma,"  said  Winifred.     u  He  won't  mind  it." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC  157 

Poor  Winifred !  Poor  Governor ! — He  was  not  in  the  stage. 
There  was  no  room  for  him.  His  only  choice  was  to  take  a  seat 
beside  the  driver,  unless  he  would  wait  another  day;  and  he 
never  thought  of  waiting.  He  mounted  up  to  the  box,  and  the 
stage-coach  went  away  with  him ;  while  more  slowly  and  soberly 
the  little  boat  set  its  head  homewards  and  pulled  up  through  the 
driving  rain. 

It  rained  steadily,  and  all  things  soon  owned  the  domination 
of  the  watery  clouds.  The  horses,  the  roads,  the  rocks,  the 
stage-coach,  and  the  two  outsiders,  who  submitted  for  a  long  dis- 
tance in  like  silence  and  quiet ;  though  with  the  one  it  was  the 
quiet  of  habit  and  with  the  other  the  quiet  of  necessity.  Or  it 
might  be  of  abstraction ;  for  "Wmthrop's  mind  took  little  heed  to 
the  condition  of  his  body. 

It  was  busy  with  many  greater  things.  And  among  them  the 
little  word  to  which  his  sister's  finger  had  pointed,  lodged  itself 
whether  he  would  or  no,  and  often  when  he  would  not.  Now 
now, — "  God  now  commandeth  all  men  everywhere  to  repent." 
It  was  at  the  back  of  Winthrop's  thoughts,  wherever  they  might 
be ;  it  hung  over  his  mental  landscape  like  the  rain-cloud ;  he 
could  look  at  nothing,  as  it  were,  but  across  the  gentle  shadows 
of  that  truth  falling  upon  his  conscience.  The  rain-drops  dim- 
pled it  into  the  wate*,  when  the  road  lay  by  the  river-side; 
and  the  bare  tree-stems  they  were  passing,  that  said  so  much  of 
the  past  and  the  future,  said  also  quietly  and  soberly,  "now." 
The  very  stage-coach  reminded  him  he  was  on  a  journey  to  the 
end  of  which  the  stage-coach  could  not  bring  him,  and  for  the 
end  of  which  he  had  no  plans  nor  no  preparations  made.  And 
the  sweet  images  of  home  said,  "  now — make  them."  And  yet 
all  this,  though  true  and  real  in,  his  spirit,  was  so  still  and  so 
softly  defined,  that, — like  the  reflection  of  the  hills  in  the  smooth 
water  of  the  river, — he  noted  without  noting,  he  saw  without 
dwelling  upon  it.  It  was  the  depth  of  the  picture,  and  his  mind 
chose  the  stronger  outlines.  And  then  the  water  ruffled,  and  the 
reflection  was  lo?t. 

The  ride  was  in  dull  silence,  till  after  some  hours  the  coach- 
man stopped  to  give  his  horses  water ;  though  he  remarked,  "  it 
was  contrary  in  them  to  want  it."  But  after  that  his  tongue 
seemed  loosed. 

"  Dampish  !  "  he  remarked  to  his  fellow-traveller,  as  he  climb* 
ed  up  to  his  place  again  and  took  the  reins. 

"  Can  you  stand  it  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Stand  what  ?  " 


158  THE   HILLS    OF   THE    SHATFMUO. 

"  Being  wet  through  at  this  rate?  " 

"  Don't  signify  whether  a  man's  killed  one  way  or  another," 
was  the  somewhat  unhopeful  answer.  "  Come  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  long  run,  I  expect." 

"  Might  as  well  make  as  long  a  run  as  you  can  of  it.  "Why 
don't  you  wear  some  sort  of  an  overcoat  ?  " 

tt  I  keep  it — same  way  you  do  yourn. — No  use  to  spoil  a  thing 
for  nothing.  There's  no  good  of  an  overcoat  but  to  hold  so  much 
heft  of  water,  and  a  man  goes  lighter  without  it.  As  long  as 
you've  got  to  be  soaked  through,  what's  the  odds  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  lay  my  account  with  this  sort  of  thing  when  I  set 
out,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  0  /  did.  I  have  it  about  a  third  of  the  time,  I  gue^s. 
This  and  March  is  the  plaguiest  months  in  the  hull  year.  They 
do  use  up  a  man." 

Some  thread  of  association  brought  his  little  sister's  open 
book  and  pointed  finger  on  the  sudden  before  Winthrop,  and  for 
a  moment  he  was  silent. 

"  Yours  is  rather  bad  business  this  time  of  year,"  he  remarked. 

"  Like  all  other  business,"  said  the  man ;  "  aint  much  choice. 
There's  a  wet  and  a  dry  to  most  things.  What's  yourn  ?  if  I 
may  ask." 

"  Wet,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  How  ? — "  said  the  man. 

"  You  need  only  look  at  me  to  see,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Well — I  thought — "  said  his  companion,  looking  at  him 
again — "  Be  you  a  dominie  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Going  to  be  ? — Hum  ! — Get  ap  ! — "  said  the  driver  touching 
up  one  of  his  horses. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Can't  tell — took  a  notion.  I  can  mostly  tell  folks,  whether 
they  are  one  thing  or  another." 

"  But  you  are  wrong  about  me,"  said  Winthrop ;  "I  am 
neither  one  thing  nor  the  other." 

"  I'll  be  shot  if  you  aint,  then,"  said  his  friend  after  taking 
another  look  at  him.  "  Ben't  you  ? — You're  either  a  dominie  or 
a  lawyer — one  of  the  six." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  judge  from.  Are  clergy- 
men and  lawyers  so  much  alike  ?  " 

"I  guess  I  aint  fur  wrong,"  said  the  man,  with  again  a 
glance,  a  very  benign  one,  of  curiosity.  "  I  should  say,  your  eye 
was  a  lawyer  and  your  mouth  a  clergyman." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  159 

"  You  can't  tell  what  a  man  is  when  he  is  as  wet  as  I  am," 
said  Winthrop. 

"  Can't  tell  what  he's  goin'  to  he,  nother.  Well,  if  the  rain 
don't  stop,  we  will,  that's  one  thing." 

The  rain  did  not  stop;  and  though  the  coach  did,  it  was 
not  till  evening  had  set  in.  And  that  Was  too  late.  The  wet 
and  cold  had  wrought  for  more  days  than  one ;  they  brought  on 
disease  from  which  even  Winthrop's  strong  frame  and  spirit  could 
not  immediately  free  him.  He  lay  miserably  ill  all  the  next  day 
and  the  next  night,  and  yet  another  twelve  hours  ;  and  then  find- 
ing that  his  dues  paid  would  leave  him  but  one  dollar  unbroken, 
"Winthrop  dragged  himself  as  he  might  out  of  bed  and  got  into 
the  stage-coach  for  Mannahatta  which  set  off  that  same  evening. 


CHAPTEK   XYI. 

1  reckon  this  always— that  a  man  is  never  undono  till  he  be  hanged ;  nor  never  welcome 
to  a  place,  till  some  certain  shot  be  paid,  and  the  hostess  say,  welcome. 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Yeeona. 

What  a  journey  that  was,  of  weariness  and  pain  and  strong  will. 
Unfit,  and  almost  unable  to  travel,  empty  of  means  and  resources 
almost  alike,  lie  would  go, — and  he  was  going ;  and  sheer  deter- 
mination stood  in  the  place  and  filled  the  want  of  all  things  be- 
side. It  was  mean's  and  resources  both ;  for  both  are  at  the  com- 
mand of  him  who  knows  how  to  command  them.  But  though 
the  will  stand  firm,  it  may  stand  very  bare  of  cheering  or  help- 
ing thoughts ;  and  so  did  Winthrop's  that  live-long  night.  There 
was  no  wavering,  but  there  was  some  sadness  that  kept  him  com- 
pany. 

The  morning  broke  as  cheerless  as  his  mood.  It  had  rained 
during  the  night  and  was  still  raining,  or  sleeting,  and  freezing  as 
fast  as  it  fell.  The  sky  was  a  leaden  grey ;  the  drops  that  camo 
down  only  went  to  thicken  the  sheet  of  ice  that  lay  upon  every- 
thing. No  face  of  the  outer  world  could  be  more  unpromising 
than  that  which  slowly  greeted  him,  as  the  night  withdrew  her 
veil  and  the  stealthy  steps  of  the  dawn  said  that  no  bright  day 
was  chasing  her  forward.  Fast  enough  it  lighted  up  the  slippery 
way,  the  glistening  fences,  the  falling  sleet  which  sheathed  fields 
and  houses  with  glare  ice.  And  the  city,  when  they  came  to  it, 
was  no  better.  It  was  worse ;  for  the  dolefulness  was  positive 
here,  which  before  in  the  broad  open  country  was  only  negative. 
The  icy  sheath  was  now  upon  things  less  pure  than  itself.  The  sleet 
fell  where  cold  and  cheerlessness  seemed  to  be  the  natural  state 
of  things.  Few  people  ventured  into  the  streets,  and  those  few 
looked  and  moved  as  if  they  felt  it  a  sad  morning,  which  proba- 
bly they  did.    The  very  horses  stumbled  along  their  way,  and  here 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO,  161 

and  there  a  poor  creature  had  lost  footing  entirely  and  gone  down 
on  the  ice.  Slowly  and  carefully  picking  its  way  along,  the 
stage-coach  drew  up  at  last  at  its  place  in  Court  St. 

The  disease  had  spent  itself,  or  Winthrop's  excellent  consti- 
tution had  made  good  its  rights ;  for  he  got  out  of  the  coach  feel- 
ing free  from  pain,  though  weak  and  unsteady  as  if  he  had  been 
much  longer  ill.  It  would  have  been  pleasant  to  take  the  refresh- 
ment of  brushes  and  cold  water,  for  his  first  step ;  but  it  must 
have  been  a  pleasure  paid  for ;  so  he  did  not  go  into  the  house. 
For  the  same  reason  he  did  not  agree  to  the  offer  of  the  stage- 
driver  to  carry  him  and  his  baggage  to  the  end  of  his  journey. 
He  looked  about  for  some  more  humble  way  of  getting  his  trunk 
thither,  meaning  to  take  the  humblest  of  all  for  himself.  But 
porters  seemed  all  to  have  gone  off  to  breakfast  or  to  have  de- 
spaired of  a  job.  None  were  in  sight.  Only  a  man  was  shuf- 
fling along  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  looking  over  at  the  stage- 
coach. 

"  Here,  Jem — Tom — Patrick !  " — cried  the  stage-driver, — 
u  cant  you  take  the  gentleman's  trunk  for  him  ?  " 

"  Michael,  at  your  service,  and  if  it's  all  one  t'  ye,"  said  the 
person  called,  coming  over.  "I'm  the  boy!  Will  this  be  the 
box?" 

"  That  is  it ;  but  how  will  you  take  it  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Sure  I'll  carry  it — asy — some  kind  of  a  way,"  said  Michael, 
handling  the  trunk  about  in  an  unsettled  fashion  and  seeming  to 
meditate  a  hoist  of  it  to  his  shoulders.    "  Where  will  it  go,  sir-r  ?  " 

"  Stop, — that  won't  do — that  handle  won't  hold,"  said  the 
trunk's  master.     "  Haven't,  you  a  wheelbarrow  here  ?  " 

"  Well  that's  a  fact,"  said  Michael,  letting  the  end  of  the 
trunk  down  into  the  straet  with  a  force  that  threatened  its  frail 
constitution; — "  if  the  handle  wouldn't  hould,  there'd  be  no  hoult 
onto  it,  at  all.  Here  ! — can't  you  let  us  have  a  barrow,  some  one 
amongst  ye  ? — I'll  be  back  with  it  afore  you'll  be  wanting  it,  I'll 
engage." 

Winthrop  seconded  the  application;  and  the  wheelbarrow 
after  a  little  delay  came  forth.  The  trunk  was  bestowed  on  it  by 
the  united  efforts  of  the  Irishman  and  the  ostler. 

"  Now,  don't  let  it  run  away  from  you,  Pat,"  said  the  latter. 

"  It'll  not  run  away  from  Michael,  I'll  engage,"  said  that  per- 
sonage with  a  capable  air,  pulling  up  first  his  trowsers  band  and 
then  the  wheelbarrow  handles,  to  be  ready  for  a  start.  "  Which 
way,  then,  sir,  will  I  turn  ?  " 

Winthrop  silently  motioned  him  on,  for  in  spite  of  weakness 


162  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

of  body  and  weariness  of  spirit  he  felt  too  nervously  inclined  to 
laugh,  to  trust  his  mouth  with  any  demonstrations.  Michael  and 
the  wheelbarrow  went  on  ahead  and  he  followed,  both  taking  the 
middle  of  the  street  where  the  ice  was  somewhat  broken  up,  for 
on  the  sidewalk  there  was  no  safety  for  anybody.  Indeed  safety 
anywhere  needed  to  be  cared  for.  And  every  now  and  then  some 
involuntary  movement  of  Michael  and  the  barrow,  together  with 
some  equally  unlooked-for  exclamation  of  the  former,  by  way  of 
comment  or  explanation,  startled  Winthrop's  eye  and  ear,  and 
kept  up  the  odd  contrast  of  the  light  with  the  heavy  in  his  mind's 
musings.  It  had  ceased  to  rain,  but  the  sky  was  as  leaden  grey 
as  ever,  and  still  left  its  own  dull  look  on  all  below  it.  Win- 
throp's walk  along  the  streets  was  a  poor  emblem  of  his  mind's 
travelling  at  the  time ; — a  painful  picking  the  way  among  difficul- 
ties, a  struggle  to  secure  a  footing  where  foothold  there  was  not ; 
the  uncertain  touch  and  feeling  of  a  cold  and  slippery  world. 
All  true, — not  more  literally  than  figuratively.  And  upon  this 
would  come,  with  a  momentary  stop  and  push  forward  of  the 
wheelbarrow, — 

"  'Faith,  it's  asier  going  backwards  nor  for'ards ! — Which 
way  will  I  turn,  yer  honour  V  is  it  up  or  down  ?  " 

"  Straight  ahead." 

"  Och,  but  I'd  rather  the  heaviest  wheeling  that  ever  was  in- 
vinted,  sooner  nor  this  little  slide  of  a  place. — Here  we  go ! — 
Och,  stop  us  ! — Och,  but  the  little  carriage  has  taken  me  to  itself 
intirely.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  run  ahint  and  keep  up  wid 
the  same.  Would  there  be  much  more  of  the  hills  to  go  down, 
yer  honour,  the  way  we're  going  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Keep  in  the  middle  of  the  street." 

"  Sure  I'm  blessed  if  I  can  keep  any  place !  "  said  Michael, 
whose  movements  were  truly  so  erratic  and  uncertain  that  Win- 
throp's mood  of  thoughtfulness  was  more  than  once  run  down  by 
them. — "  The  trunk's  too  weighty  for  me,  yer  honour, — it  will 
have  its  own  way  and  me  after  it--— here  we  go ! — Och,  it  wouldn't 
turn  out  if  it  was  for  an  angel  itself.  Maybe  yer  honour  wouldn't 
go  ahead  and  stop  it  ?  " 

"  No  chance,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Winthrop,  whose  mouth  was 
twitching  at  the  trot  of  the  Irishman's  feet  after  the  wheelbar- 
row. 

"  Och,  but  we'll  never  get  down  there !  "  he  said  as  he  paused 
at  the  top  of  a  long  slope.  "  Then  I  never  knew  before  what  a 
hard  time  the  carriage  has  to  go  after  the  horses !  We'll  never 
get  down  there,  yer  honour  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  163 

"  Never's  a  great  word,  Michael." 

"  It  is,  sir !  "— 

"  I  think  you  can  get  down  there  if  you  try." 

"  Very  well,  sir  ! — I  suppose  I  will." 

But  he  muttered  Irish  blessings  or  cursings  to  himself  as  he 
took  up  his  trowsers  and  wheelbarrow  handles  again. 

"  Yer  honour,  do  ye  think  we'll  ever  keep  on  our  feet  till  the 
bottom  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  come  down  the  wheelbarrow  won't,  I  think, 
Michael." 

"  Then  I  suppose  we'll  both  be  to  come,"  said  the  man  resign- 
edly.    "  Yer  honour  '11  consider  the  bad  way,  I  expict." 

'  His  honour'  had  reason  to  remember  it.  They  were  going 
down  Bank  St.,  where  the  fall  of  ground  was  rather  rapid,  and 
the  travel  of  the  morning  had  not  yet  been  enough  to  break  up 
the  smooth  glare  of  the  frozen  sleet.  The  Irishman  and  the  bar- 
row got  upon  a  run,  the  former  crying  out,  "  Och,  it  will  go,  yer 
honour ! " — and  as  it  would  go,  it  chose  its  own  course,  which  was 
to  run  full  tilt  against  a  cart  which  stood  quietly  by  the  sidewalk. 
Neither  Michael's  gravity  nor  that  of  the  wheelbarrow  could 
stand  the  shock.  Both  went  over,  and  the  unlucky  trunk  was 
tumbled  out  into  the  middle  of  the  street.  But  the  days  when 
the  old  trunk  could  have  stood  such  usage  were  long  past.  The 
hasp  and  hinge  gave  way,  the  cover  sprang,  and  many  a  thing 
they  should  have  guarded  from  public  eyes  flew  or  rolled  from 
its  hiding  place  out  upon  the  open  street. 

Winthrop  from  higher  ground  had  beheld  the  overthrow,  and 
knew  what  he  must  find  when  he  got  to  the  bottom.  Two  or 
three  pair  of  the  socks  little  Winnie  had  knitted  for  him  had 
bounced  out  and  scattered  themselves  far  and  wide,  one  even 
reaching  the  gutter.  Some  sheets  of  manuscript  lay  ingloriously 
upon  the  wheelbarrow  or  were  getting  wet  on  the  ice.  One 
nicely  "done  up"  shirt  was  hopelessly  done  for;  and  an  old 
coat  had  unfolded  itself  upon  the  pavement,  and  was  fearlessly 
telling  its  own  and  its  master's  condition  to  all  the  passers- 
by.  Two  or  three  books  and  several  clean  pockethandkerchiefs 
lay  about  indifferently,  and  were  getting  no  good ;  an  old  shoe 
on  the  contrary  seemed  to  be  at  home.  A  paper  of  gingercakes, 
giving  way  to  the  suggestions  of  the  brother  shoe,  had  be- 
stowed a  quarter  of  its  contents  all  abroad ;  and  the  open  face  of 
the  trunk  offered  a  variety  of  other  matters  to  the  curiosity  of 
whom  it  might  concern ;  the  broken  cover  giving  but  very  par- 
tial hindrance. 


164:  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMIJO. 

The  Irishman  had  gathered  himself,  and  himself  only,  out  of 
the  fallen  condition  in  which  all  things  were. 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  ould  thing,  then !  " — was  his  sense  of  the 
matter. 

"  You  needn't  wish  that,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Then,  yer  honour,  I  wouldn't  wish  anything  better  to  meself, 
if  I  could  ha'  helped  it.  If  meself  had  been  in  the  box,  I 
couldn't  ha'  taken  it  more  tinder,  till  we  began  to  go,  and  then, 
plase  yer  honour,  I  hadn't  no  hoult  of  anything  at  ell  at  all." 

';  Take  hold  now,  then,"  said  Winthrop,  "  and  set  this  up 
straight ;  and  then  see  if  you  can  get  a  sixpenny  worth  of  rope 
anywhere." 

The  man  went  off,  and  Winthrop  gathered  up  his  stray  pos- 
sessions from  the  street  and  the  gutter  and  with  some  difficulty 
got  them  in  their  places  again ;  and  then  stood  mounting  guard 
over  the  wheelbarrow  and  baggage  until  the  coming  of  the  rope ; 
thinking  perhaps  how  little  he  had  to  take  care  of  and  how 
strange  it  was  there  should  be  any  difficulty  in  his  doing  it. 

More  care,  or  an  evener  way,  brought  them  at  last,  without 
further  mishap,  to  Diamond  St.,  and  along  Diamond  St.  to  Mr. 
Forriner's  house  and  store.  Both  in  the  same  building ;  large 
and  handsome  enough,  at  least  as  large  and  handsome  as  its 
neighbours  ;  the  store  taking  the  front  of  the  ground  floor.  Mr. 
Forriner  stood  in  the  doorway  taking  a  look  at  the  day,  which 
probably  he  thought  promised  him  little  custom  ;  for  his  face 
was  very  much  the  colour  of  the  weather. 

Winthrop  stopped  the  wheelbarrow  before  the  house;  went 
up  and  named  his  name. 

"  Winthrop  Landholm  !  " — the  touch  of  Mr.  Forriner's  hand 
said  nothing  at  all  unless  it  were  in  the  negative ; — "  how  d'ye 
do,  sir.     Come  to  make  a  visit  in  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  have  come  here  to  stay." 

"Ah!— hum.     Sister  well?" 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"  Left  home  yesterday  ?  " 

"  No  sir — three  days  ago." 
Ah  ?  where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  In  bed,  sir — caught  cold  in  the  rain  Tuesday." 

"  Tuesday ! — yes,  it  did  rain  considerable  all  along  Tuesday. 
Where  were  you  ?  " 

"  By  the  way,  sir." 

"  Just  got  here,  eh  ? — bad  time." 

"  I  could  not  wait  for  a  good  one." 


THE    HILLS    OP    THE    6HATEMUC.  165 

"What  are  you  calculating  to  do  here  ?  " 

"  Study  law,  sir." 

lt  Law  ! — hum.     Do  you  expect  to  make  money  by  that  ?  " 

"  If  I  don't,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  make  money  by  anything," 
said  Winthrop 

"  Hum ! — I  guess  there  aint  much  money  made  by  the  law," 
said  Mr.  Forriner  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff.  "  It's  a  good  trade  to 
starve  by.     How  long  have  you  to  study  ?  " 

"  All  the  time  I  have  to  live,  sir." 

"  Eh  ? — and  how  do  you  expect  to  live  in  the  meantime  ?  " 

"  I  shall  manage  to  live  as  long  as  I  study." 

u  Well  I  hope  you  will — I  hope  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Forriner. 
"  You'll  come  in  and  take  breakfast  with  us  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  sir." 

"  You  haven't  had  breakfast  yet  ?  " 

"  No  sir,  nor  supper." 

"  Well  I  guess  wife's  got  enough  for  you.  If  that's  your  bcx 
you'd  better  get  the  man  to  help  you  in  with  it.  You  can  set  it 
down  here  behind  the  door." 

"  Is  it  the  right  place,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Michael  as  Winthrop 
came  out  to  him. 

"  No,"  said  Winthrop.  "  But  you  may  help  me  in  with  the 
trunk." 

Michael  was  satisfied  that  he  had  the  right  money,  and  de- 
parted ;  and  Winthrop  followed  Mr.  Forriner  through  a  narrow 
entry  cut  off  from  the  store,  to  a  little  back  room,  which  was  the 
first  of  the  domestic  premises.  Here  stood  a  table,  and  Mrs. 
Forriner;  a  hard-featured  lady,  in  a  muslin  cap  likewise  hard- 
featured  ;  there  was  a  "  not-give-in  "  look,  very  marked,  in  both, 
cap  and  lady.  A  look  that  Winthrop  recognized  at  once,  and 
which  her  husband  seemed  to  have  recognized  a  great  while. 

"  Mrs.  Forriner !  "  said  that  gentleman  to  his  nephew.  "  My 
dear,  this  is  Cousin  Winthrop  Landholm — Orphah's  son." 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Forriner's  eyes  and  cap ; 
her  tongue  moved  not. 

"  Just  come  in  town,"  pursued  her  husband;  "  and  has  come 
to  take  breakfast  with  us." 

"  Have  you  come  in  to  stay,  cousin  ?  or  are  you  going  back 
again  to  the  North  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  back  at  present — I  am  going  to  stay,"  said 
Winthrop. 

The  lady  was  standing  up,  waiting  the  instant  arrival  of 
breakfast,  or  not  euough  at  ease  in  her  mind  to  sit  down.     Tho 


166  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

table  and  room  and  furniture,  though  plain  enough  and  even  mean 
in  their  character,  had  notwithstanding  a  sufficient  look  of  home- 
ly comfort. 

u  You  didn't  like  it  up  there  where  you  were  ?  "  she  went  on, 
changing  the  places  of  things  on  the  table  with  a  dissatisfied  air. 

"  Up  where,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  0  this  is  not  Rufus, — this  is  Winthrop,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Forriner.  "  Cousin  Winthrop  has  just  come  down  from — I  forget 
— from  home.  What  does  brother  Landholm  call  his  place, 
cousin  ?  " 

"  We  sometimes  call  it  after  our  mountain,  '  Wut-a-qut-o.'  " 

How  sweet  the  syllables  seemed  in  Winthrop's  lips  i 

"  What  ?  "  put  in  the  lady. 

Winthrop  repeated. 

11 1  should  never  remember  it. — Then  this  is  another  cousin  ?  * 
she  remarked  to  Mr.  Forriner ; — u  and  not  the  one  that  was  here 
before?" 

"No,  my  dear.  It  is  Eufus  that  is  in  the  country  up  North 
somewhere — Cousin  Winthrop  is  coming  here  to  be  a  lawyer,  he 
tells  me." 

"  Will  you  sit  up,  cousin  ?  "  said  the  lady  somewhat  dryly, 
after  a  minute's  pause,  as  her  handmaid  set  a  Britannia  metal 
tea-pot  on  the  board.  The  meaning  of  the  request  being  that  he 
should  move  his  chair  up  to  the  table,  Winthrop  did  so ;  for  to 
do  the  family  justice  he  had  sat  down  some  time  before. 

"  How  will  your  mother  do  without  you  at  home  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Forriner,  when  she  had  successfully  apportioned  the  milk  and 
sugar  in  the  cups. 

"  I  have  not  been  at  home  for  three  years  past." 

"  Has  she  other  sons  with  her  ?  " 

"Not  another  so  old  as  myself." 

"  It'*  Dretty  hard  on  her,  aint  it,  to  have  her  two  eldest  go 
off?" 

"  Where  have  you  been  these  three  years  ?  "  put  in  Uncle 
Forriner. 

"  At  Shagarack,  sir." 

"  Ah ! — Brother  Landholm  is  bringing  up  all  his  sons  to  be 
civilians,  it  seems." 

Winthrop  was  not  very  clear  what  his  questioner  meant ;  but 
as  it  was  probable  Mr.  Forriner  himself  was  in  the  same  condi- 
tion of  darkness,  he  refrained  from  asking. 

"  What's  at  Shagarack  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Forriner. 

"  A  College,  my  dear." 


THE    IIILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  167 

"  College ! — Have  you  just  come  to  the  city,  cousin  ?  " 

"  He  caught  cold  in  the  rain  last  Tuesday  and  has  been  lying 
by  ever  since,  and  only  got  in  town  this  morning." 

"  Have  you  got  a  place  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  ma'am.     I  have  been  but  two  hours  here." 

"  Well  you  had  better  see  to  that  the  first  thing,  and  come 
here  and  take  dinner — that'll  give  you  a  chance.  You'll  easily 
find  what  you  want." 

"  Not  this  morning,  I  think,  unless  it  is  to  be  found  very  near 
by,"  said  Winthrop ;  "for  my  feet  would  hardly  carry  me  a 
hundred  yards." 

"  You  see,  he's  weak  yet,"  put  in  Mr.  Forriner. 

"  Didn't  you  walk  here,  cousin  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  did,  ma'am ;  for  I  have  not  strength  \o 
walk  anywhere  else." 

"  0  well,  you  can  go  up  stairs  and  lie  down  and  get  some  rest ; 
you'll  be  better  by  afternoon  I  dare  say.  Will  you  have  another 
cup  of  tea  ?  " 

But  Winthrop  declined  it. 

"  He  don't  look  right  smart,"  said  Mr.  Forriner.  "  I  reckon 
he'll  have  to  go  to  bed  for  a  while.  Cousin,  if  you'll  come  up 
stairs,  I'll  shew  you  a  place  where  you  can  sleep." 

They  went  up  accordingly. 

"  Mr.  Forriner — "  called  his  wife  from  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  when  he  and  Winthrop  had  reached  the  top — "  Mr.  For- 
riner ! — the  end  room — put  him  in  the  end  room." 

"  Yes — it  isn't  very  big,  but  you  won't  mind  that  to  take  a 
nap  in,"  said  Mr.  Forriner,  opening  the  door  and  ushering  Win- 
throp in. 

Where  he  left  him ;  and  what  secrets  Winthrop's  pillow  knew 
were  known  to  none  but  his  pillow.  But  the  morning  was  not 
all  lost  in  sleep ;  and  home's  fair  images  did  come  most  sweet 
about  him  before  sleep  came  at  all. 

He  was  called  to  dinner,  but  chose  sleep  rather,  and  slept 
well  all  the  afternoon.  Towards  evening  he  roused  himself,  and 
though  feeling  very  little  strength  to  boast  of,  he  dressed  himself 
and  went  out. 

The  day  had  changed.  A  warmer  temperature  had  thawed 
off  the  thin  sleet,  and  the  pavements  were  drying.  The  rain- 
uloud  of  the  morning  was  broken  up  and  scattering  hither  and 
thither,  and  through  the  clefts  of  it  the  sun  came  blinking  in 
upon  the  world.  The  light  was  pleasant  upon  the  wet  streets 
and  the  long  stacks  of  building  and  the  rolling  clouds ;  and  the 


168  THE    niLLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

change  in  the  air  was  most  soothing  and  mild  after  the  morning's 
harsh  breath.  Winthrop  tasted  and  felt  it  as  he  walked  up  the 
street ;  but  how  can  the  outer  world  be  enjoyed  by  a  man  to 
whom  the  world  is  all  outer  ?  It  only  quickened  his  sense  of 
the  necessity  there  was  he  should  find  another  climate  for  his 
mind  to  live  in.  But  his  body  was  in  no  state  to  carry  him 
about  to  make  discoveries.  He  must  care  for  that  in  the  first 
place.  After  some  inquiries  and  wandering  about,  he  at  last  made 
his  way  into  Bank  St.  and  found  an  eating-house,  very  near  the 
scene  of  his  morning's  disaster.  Winthrop  had  very  few  shil- 
lings to  be  extravagant  with ;  he  laid  down  two  of  them  in  ex- 
change for  a  small  mutton  chop  and  some  bread ;  and  then,  some- 
what heartened,  set  out  upon  his  travels  again,  crossing  over  to 
the  west  side  of  the  city.  He  felt  glad,  as  he  went,  that  his 
mother — and  his  little  sister — did  not  know  at  that  moment  how 
utterly  alone  and  foundationless  he  and  his  undertaking  were 
standing  in  the  place  he  had  chosen  for  the  scene  of  his  labours 
and  the  home  of  his  future  life.  Yet  he  corrected  himself.  Not 
'foundationless,'  while  his  strong  will  stood  unmoved  and  un 
touched  by  circumstance.  Let  that  not  be  conquered,  it  would 
surely  be  conqueror,  in  the  long  run;  and  he  determined  it 
should  have  as  long  a  run  as  was  necessary.  He  could  not  help 
the  coming  to  his  mind,  as  he  slowly  walked  up  Beaver  St.,  pf 
his  mother's  recipe  against  disappointment,  and  the  conversation 
had  about  it  years  before ;  and  the  words,  "  Whatsoever  he  doeth 
shall  prosper,"  as  Rufus's  voice  had  given  them,  came  back  fresh 
and  with  a  moment's  singular  doubt  and  yearning  touching  their 
faithfulness.  Himself,  in  that  flash  of  light,  he  saw  to  be  weak, 
and  not  strong.  What  if  it  should  be  so  indeed  ?  "  Whatsoever 
he  doeth — shall  prosper."  Upon  the  uncertainty  of  human 
things,  upon  the  tumult  of  human  difficulties  and  resolves,  the 
words  came  like  a  strange  breath  of  peace,  from  somewhere  un- 
known, but  felt  to  be  a  region  of  health  and  strength.  Yet  the 
qualifications  to  take  the  promise  were  not  in  Winthrop's  hand ; 
to  seek  them  seemed  to  be  a  one  ?\de  of  his  purpose ;  he  left 
them  on  one  side,  and  went  on. 

He  was  bending  his  steps  towards  the  meeting  of  Beaver  and 
Little  South  Sts.,  the  sole  point  of  light  which  he  knew  in  the 
city.  It  seemed  to  him  that  rather  less  of  the  sun's  cheer  got 
into  Diamond  St.  than  anywhere  else.  Bank  St.  was  a  heartsome 
place  in  comparison.  He  made  his  way  slowly  up  Beaver  St. 
looking  for  Little  South,  and  passing  what  to  him  were  a  great 
many  streets  without  finding  that  one.     As  he  drew  near  still 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  169 

another,  his  eye  was  taken  with  a  man  standing  on  the  sidewalk 
before  the  corner  house ;  a  tall,  personable,  clean-looking  man ; 
who  on  his  part  looked  first  steadily  at  Winthrop  and  then  came 
down  to  meet  him,  laughing  and  holding  out  his  hand  before  he 
got  near. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  was  his  first  cordial  salutation. — "  It's 
Mr.  Landholm ! — I  knew  it ! — I  knew  you,  from  your  likeness  to 
your  brother.  We've  been  looking  for  you.  Come  in,  come  in ! 
How  is  your  brother,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

Winthrop  was  taken  by  surprise  and  could  hardly  say. 

"  I  knew  you  as  far  off  as  I  could  see  you — I  said  to  myself, 
*  That's  Mr.  Landholm ! '  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  You've 
just  got  here  ?  " 

"  This  morning.     But  what  right  have  I  to  be  expected  ?  " 

"  0  we  knew  you  were  coming.  Your  room's  ready  for  you 
— empty  and  waiting,  and  we've  been  waiting  and  lonesome  too, 
ever  since  Mr.  William  went  away.  How  is  Mr.  William,  Mr. 
Landholm  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  and  full  of  kindly  remembrances  of  you." 

"  Ah,  he's  not  forgotten  here,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald.  "  He 
won't  be  forgotten  anywhere.  Here's  my  sister,  Mr.  Landholm, 
— my  sister,  Mrs.  Nettley. — Now,  my  dear  sir,  before  we  sit 
down,  tell  me, — you  haven't  any  other  place  to  stay  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,  Mr.  Inchbald,  indeed." 

"  Then  come  up  and  see  what  we  have  to  give  you,  before  we 
strike  a  bargain.  Doll — won't  you  give  us  a  cup  of  tea  by  the 
time  we  come  down  ?  Mr.  Landholm  will  be  the  better  of  the 
refreshment.  You  have  had  a  tiresome  journey  this  weather,  Mr. 
Landholm  ?  " 

As  they  mounted  the  stairs  he  listened  to  Winthrop's  account 
of  his  illness,  and  looked  at  him  when  they  got  to  the  top,  with 
a  grave  face  of  concern  it  was  pleasant  to  meet.  They  had  come 
up  to  the  very  top;  the  house  was  a  small  and  insignificant 
wooden  one,  of  two  stories. 

"  This  is  your  room,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald,  opening  the  door 
of  the  front  attic, — "  this  is  the  room  your  brother  had ;  it's  not 
much,  and  there's  not  much  in  it ;  but  now  my  dear  friend,  till 
you  find  something  better,  will  you  keep  possession  of  it  ?  and 
give  us  the  pleasure  of  having  you  ? — and  one  thing  more,  will 
you  speak  of  pay  when  you  are  perfectly  at  leisure  to  think  of 
it,  and  not  before,  or  never,  just  as  it  happens ; — will  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  you  at  your  word,  sir ;  and  you  shall  take  me  at 
mine,  when  the  time  comes." 


170  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SnATEMUC. 

"That  I'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald.  "And  now  it's  a  bar- 
gain. Shake  hands, — and  come  let's  go  down  and  have  some  tea. 
— Doll,  I  hope  your  tea  is  good  to-night,  for  Mr.  Landholm  is  far 
from  well.     Sit  down — I  wish  your  brother  had  the  other  place." 

That  tea  was  a  refreshment.  It  was  served  in  the  little  back 
room  of  the  first  floor,  which  had  very  much  the  seeming  of  being 
Mrs.  Nettley's  cooking  room  too.  The  appointments  were  on  no 
higher  scale  of  pretension  than  Mrs.  Forriner's,  yet  they  gave  a 
far  higher  impression  of  the  people  that  used  them ;  why,  belongs 
to  the  private  mystery  of  cups  and  saucers  and  chairs,  which 
have  an  odd  obstinate  way  of  their  own  of  telling  the  truth. 
c  Doll '  was  the  very  contrast  to  the  lady  of  the  other  tea-table. 
A  little  woman,  rather  fleshy,  in  a  close  cap  and  neat  spare  gown, 
with  a  face  which  seemed  a  compound  of  benevolent  good-will, 
and  anxious  care  lest  everybody  should  not  get  the  full  benefit  of 
it.  It  had  known  care  of  another  kind  too.  If  her  brother 
had,  his  jovial,  healthy,  hearty  face  gave  no  sign. 

After  tea  Winthrop  went  back  to  Diamond  St. 

"  We  didn't  wait  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Forriner  as  he  came  in, 
— "for  we  thought  you  didn't  intend  probably  to  be  back  to  tea." 

"  What  success  have  you  had  ?  "  inquired  his  better  half. 

"  I  have  had  tea,  ma'am,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Have  you  found  any  place  ?  " 

"Or  the  place  found  me." 

"  You  have  got  one  ! — Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  In  Beaver  St. — the  place  where  my  brother  used  to  be." 

"  What's  the  name  ?  "    said  Mr.  Forriner. 

"  Inchbald." 

"  What  is  he  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Forriner. 

"  An  Englishman — a  miniature  painter  by  profession." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  makes  his  living  at  that  ?  "  said  Mrs.  For- 
riner. 

"  What  do  you  have  to  pay  ?  "  said  her  husband. 

"  A  fair  rent,  sir.  And  now  I  will  pay  my  thanks  for  storage 
and  take  away  my  trunk." 

"  To-night  ?  "    said  Mr.  Forriner. 

"  Well,  cousin,  we  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  sometimes,"  said 
Mrs.  Forriner. 

"  At  what  times,  ma'am  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

He  spoke  with  a  straightforward  simplicity  which  a  little 
daunted  her. 

"  O,"  she  said  colouring,  "  come  when  you  have  an  hour  to 
spare — any  time  when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do." 

""I  will  come  then,"  he  said  smiling. 


OHAPTEE    XYII 


Now  he  weighs  time, 
Even  to  the  utmost  grain. 

Kino  IIenky  V. 

"  Mannahatta,  Dec.  — ,  1813. 
u  My  dear  friends  at  home, 

"  I  am  as  well  and  as  happy  as  I  can  be  any  where 
away  from  you.  That  to  be  sure  is  but  a  modicum  of  happiness 
and  good  condition — very  far  from  the  full  perfection  which  I 
have  known  is  possible ;  but  you  will  all  be  contented,  will  you 
not,  to  hear  that  I  have  so  much,  and  that  I  have  no  more  ?  I 
don't  know — I  think  of  your  dear  circle  at  home— and  though  I 
cannot  wish  the  heaven  over  your  heads  to  be  a  whit  less  bright, 
I  cannot  help  wishing  that  you  may  miss  one  constellation.  You 
can't  have  any  more  than  that  from  poor  human  nature — selfish 
in  the  midst  of  its  best  generosity.  And  yet,  mother  and  Wini- 
fred, your  faces  rise  up  to  shame  me ;  and  I  must  correct  my 
speech  and  say  marts  nature ;  I  do  believe  that  some  at  least 
of  your  side  of  the  world  are  made  of  better  stuff  than  mine. 

"  'All  are  not  such.' 

"  But  you  want  to  hear  of  me  rather  than  of  yourselves,  and 
I  come  back  to  where  I  began. 

"  I  went  to  see  Mr.  De  Wort  the  day  after  I  reached  here. 
I  like  him  very  well.  He  received  me  politely,  and  very  hand- 
somely waived  the  customary  fee  ($250)  and  admitted  me  to  the 
privileges  of  his  office  upon  working  terms.  So  I  am  working 
now,  for  him  and  for  myself,  as  diligently  as  I  ever  worked  in 
my  life — in  a  fair  way  to  be  a  lawyer,  Winnie.  By  day  engross- 
ing deeds  and  copying  long-winded  papers,  about  the  quarrels 
and  wrongs  of  Mr.  A.  and  Mr.  B. — and  at  night  digging  into 


172  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

parchment-covered  books,  a  dryer  and  barrener  soil  than  any 
near  Wut-a-qut-o  or  on  .the  old  mountain  itself,  and  which  must 
nevertheless  be  digged  into  for  certain  dry  and  musty  fruits  of 
knowledge  to  be  fetched  out  of  them.  I  am  too  busy  to  get  the 
blues,  but  when  I  go  out  to  take  an  exercise  walk  now  and  then 
at  dusk  or  dawn,  I  do  wish  I  could  transport  myself  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  that  same  mountain,  and  handle  the  axe  till  I 
had  filled  mother's  fireplace,  or  take  a  turn  in  the  barn  at  father's 
wheat  or  flax.  I  should  accomplish  a  good  deal  before  you  were 
up ;  but  I  wouldn't  go  away  without  looking  in  at  you. 

"  I  am  in  the  same  house  where  Rufus  lived  when  he  was  in 
Mannahatta,  with  his  friend  Mr.  Inchbald ;  and  a  kinder  friend 
I  do  not  wish  for.  He  is  an  Englishman — a  fine-looking  and 
fine-hearted  fellow — ready  to  do  everything  for  me,  and  putting 
me  upon  terms  almost  too  easy  for  my  comfort.  He  is  a  minia- 
ture painter,  by  profession,  but  I  fear  does  not  make  much  of  a 
living.  That  does  not  hinder  his  being  as  generous  as  if  he  had 
thousands  to  dispose  of.  His  heart  does  not  take  counsel  with 
his  purse,  nor  with  anything  but  his  heart.  He  lives  with  a  wid- 
owed sister  who  keeps  his  house ;  and  she  is  as  kind  in  her  way 
as  he  is  in  his,  though  the  ways  are  different.  I  am  as  much  at 
home  here  as  I  can  be.  I  have  Rufus's  old  room ;  it  is  a  very  pleas- 
ant one,  and  if  there  is  not  much  furniture,  neither  do  I  want 
much.  It  holds  my  bed  and  my  books ;  and  my  wardrobe  at  present 
does  not  require  very  extensive  accommodations ;  and  when  I  am 
in  the  middle  of  one  of  those  said  parchment-covered  tomes,  it 
signifies  very  little  indeed  what  is  outside  of  them  or  of  me,  at 
the  moment.  So  you  may  think  of  me  as  having  all  I  desire,  so 
far  as  I  myself  am  concerned ;  for  my  license  and  my  use  of  it, 
must  be  worked  and  waited  for.  I  shall  not  be  a  great  lawyer, 
dear  Winnie,  under  three  years  at  least. 

"  For  you  all,  I  desire  so  much  that  my  heart  almost  shuts  up 
its  store  and  says  nothing.  So  much  that  for  a  long  time,  it  may 
be,  I  can  have  no  means  of  helping  you  to  enjoy.  Dear  father 
and  mother,  I  hope  I  have  not  on  the  whole  lessened  your  means 
of  enjoyment  by  striking  out  this  path  for  myself.  I  trust  it  will 
in  the  end  be  found  to  be  the  best  for  us  all.  I  have  acted  under 
the  pressure  of  an  impulse  that  seemed  strong  as  life.  I  could 
do  no  other  than  as  I  have  done.  Yet  I  can  hardly  bear  to 
think  of  you  at  home  sometimes.  Dear  Winnie  and  Asahel, 
your  images  rise  up  and  lie  down  with  me.  Asahel  must  study 
hard  every  minute  of  time  he  can  get.  And  Winnie,  you  must 
study  too   every  minute  that  it  does  not  tire  you,  and  when 


THE    niLLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  173 

mother  does  not  want  you.     And  write  to  me.     That  will  do  you 
good,  and  it  will  do  me  good  too. 
"  Give  my  love  to  Karen. 

"  Yours  all,  faithfully, 

"  WlNTHROP  LANDHCLM. 

."  P.  S. — I  have  seen  nobody  yet  but  Mr.  Herder." 

When  "Winthrop  went  to  put  this  letter  in  the  post,  he  drew 
out  the  following  : 

"  To  Winthrop  Landholm,  Esq.  : 
"  At  Mr.  George  Inchbald's, 

"Cor.  Beaver  and  Little  South  Sts.,  Mannaliatta. 

"  I  am  so  tired,  G-overnor,  with  the  world  and  myself  to-night, 
that  I  purpose  resting  myself  at  your  expense, — in  other  words, 
to  pour  over  all  my  roiled  feelings  from  my  own  heart  into  yours, 
hoping  benevolently  to  find  my  own  thereby  cleared.  What  will 
be  the  case  with  yours,  I  don't  like  to  stop  to  think ;  but  incline 
to  the  opinion,  which  I  have  for  many  years  held,  that  nothing 
can  roil  it.  You  are  infinitely  better  than  I,  Governor;  you  de- 
serve to  be  very  much  happier ;  and  I  hope  you  are.  The  truth 
is,  for  I  may  as  well  come  to  it, — I  am  half  sick  of  my  work.  I 
can  see  your  face  from  here,  and  know  just  what  its  want  of  ex- 
pression expresses.  But  stop.  You  are  not  in  my  place,  and 
don't  know  anything  about  it.  You  are  qualifying  yourself  for 
one  of  the  first  literary  professions — and  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
matters  of  joy  to  me  to  think  that  you  are.  You  are  bidding 
fair  to  stand,  where  no  doubt  you  will  stand,  at  the  head  of  so- 
ciety. Nothing  is  beyond  your  powers;  and  your  powers  will 
stop  short  of  nothing  within  their  reach.  I  know  you,  and  hug 
myself  (not  having  you  at  hand)  every  day  to  think  what  sort  of 
a  brother  I  have  got. 

"  Governor,  I  have  something  in  me  too,  and  I  am  just  now 
in  a  place  not  calculated  to  develope  or  cultivate  the  finer  part 
of  a  man's  nature.  My  associates,  without  an  exception,  are 
boors  and  donkeys,  not  unfrequently  combining  the  agreeable  pro- 
perties of  both  in  one  anomalous  animal  yclept  a  clown.  With 
them  my  days,  for  the  greater  part,  are  spent ;  and  my  nights  in 
a  series  of  calculations  almost  equally  extinguishing  to  any 
brightness  of  mind  or  spirit.  The  consequence  is  I  feel  my  light 
put  out ! — not  hid  under  a  bushel,  but  absolutely  quenched  in  its 
proper  existence.     I  felt  so  when  I  began  to  write  this  letter  *, 


174:  THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

but  by  dint  of  looking  steadily  for  so  long  a  time  towards  you, 
I  perceive  a  reflection  of  light  and  warmth  coming  back  upon  me 
and  beginning  to  take  effect  upon  my  own  tinder,  whereby  I 
gather  that  it  is  capable  of  being  ignited  again.  Seriously,  Win- 
throp,  I  am  sick  of  this.  This  was  not  what  we  left  home  for, 
I  suppose  in  time,  and  with  business  enough,  one  might  make 
money  in  this  way,  but  money  is  not  our  object  in  life.  It  can- 
not satisfy  me,  and  I  trust  not  you.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  must 
finish  this  piece  of  work — that  will  keep  me  in  the  wilds  and 
fastnesses  of  this  beautiful  region  (for  it  is  a  superb  country, 
Winthrop ;  nature  goes  far  here  to  make  up  for  the  want  of  all 
other  discoursers  whatever.  I  have  sometimes  felt  as  if  she 
would  make  a  poet  of  me,  would  I,  nold  I,)  the  finishing  of  my 
work  here  will  detain  me  in  the  North  at  least  till  June  or  July 
of  the  coming  summer;  perhaps  August.  And  then  it  is  inti- 
mated to  me  my  services  would  be  acceptable  out  West — some- 
where near  Sawcusto.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  come  to  Manna- 
hatta — perhaps  take  a  tutorship  till  something  better  offers — 
Herder  said  I  would  have  no  sort  of  difficulty  in  getting  one,  or 
at  least  he  said  what  amounted  to  that — and  perhaps,  eventually, 
enter  the  political  line.  I  am  undecided,  except  in  my  disappro- 
bation and  dislike  of  what  and  where  I  now  am.  I  have  half  an 
inclination  to  study  law  with  you.  It  is  hard  to  do  anything 
with  Fortune's  wheel  when  one  is  at  the  very  bottom ;  and  the 
jade  seems  to  act  as  if  you  were  a  drag  upon  her.  And  it  is 
hard  that  you  and  I  should  be  at  opposite  sides  of  the  world 
while  we  are  both  tugging  at  said  wheel.  I  sometimes  think  we 
could  work  to  more  advantage  nearer  together;  we  could  work 
with  somewhat  more  comfort.  I  am  in  exile  here.  Write  me  as 
soon  as  you  can. 

"  My  pleasantest  thoughts  are  of  you,  Herder  is  as  good  as 
he  can  be,  and  you  are  his  favourite ;  you  will  presently  have  the 
best  literary  society,  through  his  means.  You  don't  speak  of 
Haye.  Don't  you  go  there  ?  You  had  better,  Winthrop ; — you 
may  find  a  short  cut  to  the  top  of  Fortune's  wheel  through  the 
front  door  of  his  house.  At  any  rate,  there  are  two  very  pretty 
girls  there  and  a  number  of  other  pleasant  things,  with  which 
you  will  do  well  to  make  yourself  acquainted,  come  thereafter 
what  may.     I  wrote  to  them  at  home  a  week  or  two  ago. 

W.  Landholm. 

"  P.  S.     Isn't  Inchbald  a  good  fellow  ?  " 

The  next  post  went  out  with  the  answer. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  175 

"  To  William  Landholm,  Esq.,  North  Lyttleton,  Sassafras  Co. 

"  My  dear  Kufus, 

"  Stick  to  your  choice.  Go  West,  and  do  not  come 
here.  Do  not  be  discouraged  by  the  fact  of  making  money. 
And  don't  try  to  turn  Fortune's  wheel  by  force,  for  it  will  break 
your  arms. 

"Yours  ever, 

"  Winthrop  Landholm." 

"Winthrop  did  not  tell  them  at  home  that  he  was  giving  les- 
sons in  the  classics  several  hours  daily,  in  order  to  live  while  he 
was  carrying  on  his  own  studies  7  nor  that,  to  keep  the  burden 
of  his  kind  hosts,  as  well  as  his  own  burden,  from  growing  any 
heavier,  he  had  refused  to  eat  with  them ;  and  was  keeping  him- 
self in  the  most  frugal  manner,  partly  by  the  help  of  a  chop- 
house,  and  partly  by  the  countenance  and  support  of  a  very  hum- 
ble little  tin  coffee-pot  and  saucepan  in  his  own  attic  at  home. 
Mr.  Haye's  front  door  he  had  never  entered,  and  was  more  than 
indifferent  where  or  what  it  led  to. 

"  Why  for  do  you  not  come  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Haye,  ever  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Herder  to  him  one  day. 

"  I  am  short  of  time,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Time ! — But  you  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  time  for  that." 

"lam  glad  of  it,"  said  the  naturalist,  "  for  there  is  no  person 
I  like  to  see  better  come  into  my  room ;  but  ozer  people  would 
like  to  see  you  come  in  too." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  his  friend  looking  kindly  at  him.  "  You 
are  working  too  much." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  sir." 

"  Come  wiz  me  to  Mr.  Haye  to-night !  " 

"  No  sir,  thank  you." 

"  What  for  do  you  say  that  ? 

"  Because  it  is  kind  in  you  to  ask  me,"  said  Winthrop  smi- 
ling. 

"  You  will  not  let  nobody  be  of  no  use  to  you ;  "  said  the 
naturalist. 

Winthrop  replied  by  a  question  about  a  new  specimen ;  and 
the  whole  world  of  animate  nature  was  presently  buried  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  depths  of  philosophy,  which  comes 
to  about  the  same  thing. 


176  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHO. 

But  it  fell  out  that  same  day  that  Winthrop,  going  into  the 
3hop-house  to  fit  himself  for  hard  work  with  a  somewhat  better 
dinner  than  usual,  planted  himself  just  opposite  a  table  which 
five  minutes  after  was  taken  by  Mr.  Haye.  It  happened  then 
that  after  the  usual  solitary  and  selfish  wont  of  such  places,  the 
meals  were  near  over  before  either  of  the  gentlemen  found  out  he 
had  ever  seen  the  other.  But  in  the  course  of  Mr.  Haye's  second 
glass  of  wine,  his  eye  took  a  satisfied  fit  of  roving  over  the  com- 
pany ;  and  presently  discovered  something  it  had  seen  before  in 
the  figure  and  face  opposite  to  him  and  in  the  eye  which  was 
somewhat  carelessly  running  over  the  columns  of  a  newspaper. 
Glass  in  hand  Mr.  Haye  rose,  and  the  next  instant  Winthrop  felt 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Landholm — isn  t  it?  I  thought  so.  Why  I've  been 
on  the  point  of  coming  t«  >  look  after  you  this  last  fortnight  past, 
Mr.  Landholm,  but  business  held  me  so  tight  by  the  button — 
I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you — Will  you  join  me  ? " 

"  Thank  you,  sir — I  must  not ;  for  business  holds  me  by  the 
hand  at  this  moment." 

"  A  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  sir,  again." 

"  You  will  not  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  have  no  acquaintance  in  that  quarter,  and  do 
not  wish  to  be  introduced." 

"  But  my  dear  Mr.  Landholm ! — are  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Always,  sir," 

"  Most  extraordinary  ! — But  can't  you  be  persuaded  ?  I 
think  you  are  wrong." 

"  I  must  abide  the  consequences,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Well,  stay ! — Will  you  come  to  my  house  to-night  and  let 
me  give  you  some  other  introductions  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  refuse  that,  sir." 

"  Then  come  up  to  tea.     How's  your  father  ? — " 

So  Winthrop  was  in  for  it,  and  went  about  his  afternoon  busi- 
ness with  the  feeling  that  none  would  be  done  in  the  evening. 
Which  did  not  make  him  more  diligent,  because  it  could  not. 

Mr.  Haye's  house  was  near  the  lower  end  of  the  Parade,  and 
one  of  the  best  in  the  city.  It  was  a  very  handsome  room  in 
which  Winthrop  found  the  family ;  as  luxuriously  fitted  up  as  the 
fashion  of  those  times  permitted ;  and  the  little  group  gathered 
there  did  certainly  look  as  if  all  the  business  of  the  world  was 
done  without  them,  and  a  good  part  of  it  for  them;  so  undoubt- 
edly easy  and  comfortable  was  the  flow  of  their  lf.ces  and  tho 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  177 

sweep  of  their  silk  gowns ;  so  questionless  of  toil  or  endurance 
was  the  position  of  each  little  figure  upon  soft  cushions,  and  the 
play  of  pretty  fingers  with  delicate  do-nothing  bobbins  and  thread. 
Rose  was  literally  playing  with  hers,  for  the  true  business  of  the 
hour  seemed  to  be  a  gentleman  who  sat  at  her  feet  on  an  ottoman, 
and  who  was  introduced  to  Winthrop  as  Mr.  Satterthwaite. 
Elizabeth  according  to  her  fashion  sat  a  little  apart  and  seemed 
to  be  earnestly  intent  upon  some  sort  of  fine  net  manufacture, 
They  three  were  all. 

Winthrop's  reception  was  after  the  former  manner ;  from  Rose 
extremely  and  sweetly  free  and  cordial ;  from  Elizabeth  grave 
and  matter-of-fact.  She  went  back  to  her  net-work  ;  and  Rose 
presently  found  Mr.  Satterthwaite  very  interesting  again,  *nd 
went  back  to  him,  so  far  as  looks  and  talk  were  concerned.  Win- 
throp could  but  conclude  that  he  was  not  interesting,  for  neither 
of  the  ladies  certainly  found  him  so.  He  had  an  excellent  chance 
to  make  up  his  mind  about  the  whole  party ;  for  none  of  them 
gave  him  any  thing  else  to  do  with  it. 

Rose  was  a  piece  of  loveliness,  to  the  eye,  such  as  one  would 
not  see  in  many  a  summer  day ;  with  all  the  sweet  flush  of  youth 
and  health  she  was  not  ill-named.  Fresh  as  a  rose,  fresh-col- 
oured, bright,  blooming ;  sweet  too,  one  would  say,  for  a  very 
pretty  smile  seemed  ever  at  home  on  the  lips ;— to  see  her  but 
once,  she  would  be  noted  and  remembered  as  a  most  rare  picture 
of  humanity.  But  Winthrop  had  seen  her  more  than  once.  His 
eye  passed  on. 

Her  cousin  had  changed  for  the  better ;  though  it  might  be 
only  the  change  which  years  make  in  a  girl  at  that  age,  rather 
than  any  real  difference  of  character.  She  had  grown  handsomer. 
The  cheek  was  well  rounded  out  now,  and  had  a  clear  healthy 
tinge,  though  not  at  all  Rose's  white  and  red.  Elizabeth's  colour 
only  came  when  there  was  a  call  for  it  and  then  it  came  promptly. 
And  she  was  not  very  apt  to  smile/  when  she  did,  it  was  more 
often  with  a  careless  or  scornful  turn,  or  full  and  bright  with  a 
sense  of  the  ludicrous ;  never  a  loving  or  benevolent  smile,  such 
as  those  that  constantly  graced  Rose's  pretty  lip.  Her  mouth 
kept  its  old  cut  of  grave  independence,  Winthrop  saw  at  a  glance ; 
and  her  eye,  when  by  chance  she  lifted  it  and  it  met  his,  was  the 
very  same  mixture  of  coolness  and  fire  that  it  had  been  of  old ; 
the  fire  for  herself,  the  coolness  for  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 

She  looked  down  again  at  her  netting  immediately,  but  the 
look  had  probably  reminded  her  that  nobody  in  her  father's  house 
was  playing  the  hostess  at  the  moment.      A  disagreeable  reminder 

8* 


178  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

it  is  likely,  for  she  worked  away  at  her  netting  more  vigorously 
than  ever,  and  it  was  two  or  three  minutes  before  her  eyes  left  it 
again  to  take  note  of  what  Hose  and  Mr.  Satterthwaite  were  think- 
ing about.  s  Her  look  amused  Winthrop,  it  was  so  plain  an  expres- 
sion of  impatient  indignation  that  they  did  not  do  what  they  left  her 
to  do.  But  seeing  they  were  a  hopeless  case,  after  another  min- 
ute or  two  of  pulling  at  her  netting,  she  changed  her  seat  for  one 
on  his  side  of  the  room.  Winthrop  gave  her  no  help,  and  she 
followed  up  her  duty  move  with  a  duty  commonplace. 

"  How  do  you  like  Mannahatta,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  I  have  hardly  asked  myself  the  question,  Miss  Have." 

"  Does  that  mean  you  don't  know  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that.     I  like  it  as  a  place  of  business." 

"  And  not  as  a  place  of  pleasure  ?  " 

"  No.  Except  in  so  far  as  the  pushing  on  of  business  may  be 
pleasure." 

"  You  are  drawing  a  distinction  in  one  breath  which  you  con- 
found in  the  next,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  would  detect  it,"  he  said  with  a  half 
smile. 

"Detect  what?"    . 

"  The  distinction  between  business  and  pleasure." 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  the  difference  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  know  the  difference,  without  knowing  the  things 
to  be  compared." 

"  The  things  to  be  compared  ! — "  said  she,  with  a  good  look 
at  him  out  of  her  dark  eyes.  "  And  which  of  them  do  you  think 
I  don't  know  ?  " 

"  I  supposed  you  were  too  busy  to  have  much  time  for  plea- 
sure," he  said  quietly. 

"  It  is  possible  to  be  busy  in  more  ways  than  one,"  said  Eliz 
abeth,  after  a  minute  of  not  knowing  how  to  take  him  up. 

"That  is  just  what  1  was  thinking." 

"  What  are  you  busy  about,  Mr.  Landholm,  in  this  place  of 
business  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  learning  my  trade,"  he  answered. 

"  A  trade ! — May  I  ask  what  ?  "  she  said,  with  another  sur- 
prised and  inquisitive  look. 

"  A  sort  of  cobbling  trade,  Miss  Elizabeth — the  trade  of  the 
law." 

"  What  does  the  law  cobble  ?  " 

"  People's  name  and  estate." 

"  Cobble  ? "   said   Elizabeth.      "  What    is  the  meaning    of 
cobble  ? ' " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  179 

u  I  don't  recollect,"  said  Winthrop.  M  "What  meaning  do  you 
give  it,  Miss  Haye  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  poor  kind  of  mending." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  some  of  that  work  done  in  the  pro- 
fession," said  Winthrop  smiling.  "  Occasionally.  But  it  is  the 
profession  and  not  the  law  that  is  chargeable,  for  the  most  part." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  a  lawyer  if  that  were  not  so,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  I  wouldn't  be  a  cobbler  of  anything." 

"  To  be  anything  else  might  depend  on  a  person's  faculties." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Elizabeth, — £  I  would  not  be.  If  I 
could  not  mend,  I  would  let  alone.     I  wouldn't  cobble." 

"  What  if  one  could  neither  mend  nor  let  alone  ?  " 

"  One  would  have  less  power  over  himself  than  I  have,  or 
than  you  have,  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  One  thing  at  least  doesn't  need  cobbling,"  he  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  never  heard  such  a  belittling  character  z{  the  profession," 
she  went  on.  "  Your  mother  would  have  given  it  a  very  dif- 
ferent one,  Mr.  Landholm.  She  would  have  told  you,  ■  Open 
thy  mouth,  judge  ' — what  is  it  ? — '  and  plead  the  cause  of  the 
poor.' " 

Whether  it  were  the  unexpected  bringing  up  of  his  mother's 
name,  or  the  remembrance  of  her  spirit,  something  procured  Miss 
Elizabeth  a  quick  little  bright  smile  of  answer,  very  different 
from  anything  she  had  had  from  Winthrop  before.  So  different, 
that  her  eyes  went  down  to  her  work  for  several  minutes,  and  she 
forgot  everything  else  in  a  sort  of  wonder  at  the  change  and  at 
the  beauty  of  expression  his  face  could  put  on. 

"  I  didn't  find  those  words  myself,"  she  added  presently ; — 
"  a  foolish  man  was  shewing  me  the  other  day  what  he  said 
was  my  verse  in  some  chapter  of  Proverbs ;  and  it  happened  to 
be  that." 

But  Winthrop's  answer  went  to  something  in  her  former 
speech,  for  it  was  made  with  a  little  breath  of  a  sigh. 

"  I  think  Wut-a-qut-o  is  a  pleasanter  place  than  this,  Miss 
Haye." 

"  0,  so  do  I ! — at  least — I  don't  know  that  it  signifies  much  to 
me  what  sort  of  a  place  I  am  in.  If  I  can  only  have  the  things  I 
want  around  me,  I  don't  think  I  care  much." 

"  How  many  things  do  you  want  to  be  comfortable  ?  " 

"  0, — books, — and  the  conveniences  of  life ;  and  one  or  two 
friends  that  one  cares  about." 

"  Cut  off  two  of  those  preliminaries,— and  which  one  would 
you  keep  for  comfort,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 


180  THE    HILLS     OF     THE     SHATEHTJC. 

"  Couldn't  do  without  either  of  'em.  What's  become  of  my 
Merry-go-round,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  It  lies  in  the  upper  loft  of  the  ham,  with  all  the  seams 
open." 

"Why?" 

"  You  remember,  nobody  was  to  use  it  but  me." 

A  curious  recollection  of  the  time  when  it  was  given  and  of  the 
feeling,  half  condescending,  half  haughty,  with  which  it  had  been 
given,  came  over  Elizabeth ;  and  for  a  moment  or  two  she  was  a 
little  confused.  Whether  Winthrop  recollected  it  too  or  whether 
he  had  a  mischievous  mind  that  she  should,  he  said  presently, 

"  And  what's  become  of  your  horse,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  He's  very  well,"  she  said.  "  At  least — I  don't  know  I  am 
sure  how  he  is,  for  he  is  up  in  the  country." 

Winthrop  rose  at  the  instant  to  greet  Mr.  Herder,  and  Eliza- 
beth did  not  know  whether  the  smile  on  his  lips  was  for  him  or 
at  her. 

"  Ah !  Wint'rop,"  said  the  new-comer,  "  how  do  you  do  !  I 
thought  you  would  not  come  here  wiz  me  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I  thought  not  too,  sir." 

"  How  did  you  come  ?  Miss  £lisabet'  did  make  you." 

"  Miss  Elizabeth's  father." 

"  He  is  a  strange  man,  Miss  Elisabet' ! — he  would  not  come 
for  me — I  could  not  bring  him — neizer  for  de  love  of  me,  nor  for 
de  love  or  you,  nor  for  love  of  himself.  He  does  like  to  have 
his  way.  And  now  he  is  here — I  do  not  know  what  for  ;  but  I 
am  very  glad  to  see  him." 

He  walked  Winthrop  off. 

"  He  is  a  strange  man,"  thought  Elizabeth ; — "  he  don't  seem 
to  care  in  the  least  what  he  ever  did  or  may  do ;  he  would  jusv 
as  lief  remind  me  of  ii  as  not.  It  is  very  odd  that  he  shouldn'i 
want  to  come  here,  too." 

She  sat  still  and  worked  alone.  When  Mr.  Haye  by  and  b\ 
came  in,  he  joined  Winthrop  and  Mr.  Herder,  and  they  three 
formed  a  group  which  even  the  serving  of  tea  and  coffee  did 
not  break  up.  Elizabeth's  eye  glanced  over  now  and  then  to- 
wards the  interested  heads  of  the  talkers,  and  then  at  Rose  and 
Mr.  Satterthwaite,  who  on  the  other  side  were  also  enough  foi 
each  other's  contentment  and  seemed  to  care  for  no  interruption. 
Elizabeth  interrupted  nobody. 

But  so  soon  as  awhile  after  tea  Mr.  Satterthwaite  left  the 
company,  Rose  tripped  across  to  the  other  group  and  placed  her 
pretty  person  over  against  the  naturalist  and  his  young  friend. 


THE    HELLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  181 

"  Mr.  Herder,  you  are  taking  up  all  of  Mr.  Landholm — I 
haven't  seen  him  or  spoken  to  him  the  whole  evening." 

"  Dere  he  is,  Miss  Rose,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  Do  -what 
you  like  wiz  him." 

"  But  you  don't  give  a  chance.  Mr.  Landholm,  are  you  as 
great  a  favourite  with  everybody  as  you  are  with  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  Everybody  does  not  monopolize  me,  Miss  Cadwallader." 

"  I  wished  so  much  you  would  come  over  our  side — I  wanted 
to  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Satterthwaite." 

Winthrop  bowed,  and  Mr.  Haye  remarked  that  Mr.  Satter- 
thwaite was  not  much  to  be  acquainted  with. 

"  No,  but  still — he's  very  pleasant,"  Rose  said.  "  And  ho^ 
is  everything  up  at  your  lovely  place,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Cold,  at  present,  Miss  Cadwallader." 

"  0  yes,  of  course ;  but  then  I  should  think  it  would  be  lovely 
at  all  times.     Isn't  it  a  beautiful  place,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  Which  place,  Miss  Rose  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Landholm's  place,  up  the  river,  where  we  were 
that  summer.  And  how's  your  mother,  Mr.  Landholm,  and  your 
sister  ? — so  kind  Mrs.  Landholm  is !  And  have  you  left  them 
entirely,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  I  have  brought  all  of  myself  away  that  I  could,"  he  said 
with  a  smile. 

"  Don't  you  wish  yourself  back  there  every  day  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  !  I  should  think  you  would.  How's  your  brother, 
Mr.  Landholm,  and  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  well,  and  in  the  North  yet." 

"  Is  he  coming  back  to  Mannahatta  soon  ?  " 

"I  have  no  reason  to  think  so." 

"  I  wish  he  would.  I  want  to  see  him  again.  He  is  such 
good  company." 

"  Mr.  Wint'rop  will  do  so  well,  Miss  Rose,"  said  the 
naturalist. 

"  I  dare  say  he  will,"  said  Rose  with  a  very  sweet  face. 

"  He  won't  if  he  goes  on  as  he  has  begun,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 
"I  asked  him  to  dine  here  the  day  after  to-morrow,  Rose." 

"  He'll  come  ?— " 

But  Mr.  Landholm's  face  said  no,  and  said  it  with  a  cool 
certainty. 

"Why,  Mr.  Landholm!—" 

"  He  is  very — you  cannot  do  nozing  wiz  him,  Miss  Rose," 
said  the  naturalist.    "  Miss  Elisabet' ! — " 


182  TIIE    HILLS    OF    TIIE    SHATEMUC. 

"Well,  Mr.  Herder?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  over  here  and  see  what  you  can  do." 

"  About  what,  Mr,  Herder  ?  " 

"  Wiz  Mr.  Wint'rop  here." 

"  I  just  heard  you  say  that  nobody  can  do  anything  with  him, 
Mr.  Herder." 

"  Here  he  has  refuse  to  come  to  dinner  wiz  all  of  us." 

"  If  he  can't  come  for  his  own  pleasure,  I  don't  suppose  he 
would  come  for  anybody  else's,"  said  Elizabeth. 

She  left  her  solitary  chair  however,  and  came  up  and  stood 
behind  Mr.  Herder. 

"  He  pleads  business,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Miss  Elisabet',  we  want  your  help,"  said  Mr.  Herder.  "  He 
is  working  too  hard." 

u  I  am  not  supposed  to  know  what  that  means,  sir." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Working  too  hard." 

"  Work !  "  said  Mr.  Haye.  "  What  do  you  know  about 
work  ?  " 

"  The  personal  experience  of  a  life-time,  sir,"  said  Winthrop 
gravely.  u  Not  much  of  the  theory,  but  a  good  deal  of  the 
practice." 

"  I'll  bear  her  witness  of  one  thing,"  said  Mr.  Haye ;  "  if  she 
can't  work  herself,  she  can  make  work  for  other  people." 

"  You've  got  it,  Lizzie,"  said  her  cousin,  clapping  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  take  it,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  For.  whom  do  I  make 
work,  father  ?  " 

"  For  me,  or  whoever  has  the  care  of  you." 

Elizabeth's  cheek  burned  now,  and  her  eye  too,  with  a  fire 
which  she  strove  to  keep  under. 

"  It's  not  fair  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  If  I  make  work  for  you, 
I  am  sure  it  is  work  that  nobody  takes  up." 

"  That's  true,"  said  her  father  laughing, — "  it  would  be  too 
much  trouble  to  pretend  to  take  it  all  up." 

"  Then  you  shouldn't  bring  it  up  !  "  said  Elizabeth,  trembling. 

"  It's  nothing  very  bad  to  bring  up,"  said  her  father.  "  It's 
only  a  little  extra  strong  machinery  that  wants  a  good  engineer." 

"  That's  no  fault  in  the  machinery,  sir,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  And  all  you  have  to  do,"  suggested  Mr.  Herder,  "  is  to  find 
a  good  engineer." 

"  I  am  my  own  engineer  ! "  said  Elizabeth,  a  little  soothed  by 
the  first  remark  and  made  desperate  by  the  second. 

u  So  you  are !  "  said  her  cousin.    "  There's  no  doubt  of  that." 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  183 

"  Are  you  a  good  one,  Miss  Elisabet'  ?  "  said  the  naturalist, 
smiling  at  her. 

"  You  must  presume  not ! — after  what  you  have  heard,"  she 
answered  with  abundant  haughtiness. 

"It  is  one  mark  of  a  good  engineer  to  he  a  match  for  his 
machinery,"  said  Winthrop  quietly. 

It  was  said  so  coolly  and  simply  that  Elizabeth  did  not  take 
oifence.  She  stood,  rather  cooled  down  and  thoughtful,  still  at 
the  back  of  Mr.  Herder's  chair.  Winthrop  rose  to  take  leave,  and 
Mr.  Haye  repeated  his  invitation. 

"  I  will  venture  so  far  as  to  say  I  will  come  if  I  can,  sir." 

"  I  shall  expect  you/  said  the  other,  shaking  his  hand 
cordially. 

Mr.  Herder  went  with  his  friend.  Mr.  Haye  soon  himself 
followed,  leaving  the  two  ladies  alone.  Both  sat  down  in  silence 
at  the  table ;  Elizabeth  with  a  book,  Miss  Cadwallader  with  her 
fancy  work ;  but  neither  of  them  seemed  very  intent  on  what  she 
was  about.  The  work  went  on  lazily,  and  the  leaves  of  the  book 
were  not  turned  over. 

"  I  wish  I  was  Winthrop  Landholm,"  said  Rose  at .  ength. 

"  Why  ?  " — said  her  cousin,  after  a  sufficient  time  had  marked 
her  utter  carelessness  of  what  the  meaning  might  have  been. 

"I  should  have  such  a  good  chance." 

"  Of  what  ?  " — said  Elizabeth  dryly  enough. 

"  Of  a  certain  lady's  favour,  whose  favour  is  not  very  easy  to 
gain." 

"  You  don't  care  much  for  my  favour,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  should,  if  I  were  Winthrop  Landholm." 

"  If  you  were  he,  you  wouldn't  get  it,  any  more  than  you 
have  now." 

"  0  no.    I  mean,  I  wish  I  were  he  and  not  myself,  you  know." 

"  You  must  think  well  enough  of  him.  I  am  sure  no  possible 
inducement  could  make  me  wish  myself  Mr.  Satterthwaite,  for  a 
moment." 

"  I  don't  care  for  Mr.  Satterthwaite,"  said  Eosc  coolly.  "  But 
how  Mr.  Haye  takes  to  him,  don't  he  ?  " 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  Landholm." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  shews  it." 

"  Why,  the  way  he  was  asking  him  to  dinner." 

"  It  is  nothing  very  uncommon  for  Mr.  Haye  to  ask  people 
to  dinner." 

a  No,  but  such  a  person." 


184  THE   HILLS    OF   THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  What '  such  a  person    ?  " 

"  0,  a  farmer's  boy.  Mr.  Haye  wouldn't  have  done  it  once 
But  that's  the  way  he  always  comes  round  to  people  when  they 
get  up  in  the  world." 

"  This  one  hasn't  got  much  up  in  the  world  yet." 

"  He  is  going  to,  you  know.  Mr.  Herder  says  so ;  and  Presi- 
dent Darcy  says  there  are  not  two  such  young  men  seen  in  half  a 
century  as  he  and  his  brother." 

Elizabeth  laid  down  her  book  and  looked  over  at  her  com- 
panion, with  an  eye  the  other  just  met  and  turned  away  from. 

"  Rose, — how  dare  you  talk  to  me  so  !  " 

"  So  how  ?  "  said  the  other,  pouting  and  reddening,  but  with- 
out lifting  her  face  from  her  work. 

"  You  know, — about  my  father.  No  matter  what  he  does,  if 
it  were  the  worst  thing  in  the  world,  your  lips  have  no  business 
to  mention  it  to  my  ears." 

" I  wasn't  saying  anything  bad"  said  Rose. 

u  Your  notions  of  bad  and  good,  and  honourable  and  dishon- 
ourable, are  very  different  from  mine  !  If  he  did  as  you  say,  I 
should  be  bitterly  ashamed." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"  I  will  not  have  such  things  spoken  of  to  me, — Rose,  do 
you  understand  ?  "What  my  father  does,  no  human  being  has  a 
right  to  comment  upon  to  me  ;  and  none  shall !  " 

" You  think  you  may  talk  as  you  like  to  me"  said  Rose, 
between  pouting  and  crying.     "  I  was  only  laughing." 

"  Laugh  about  something  else." 

"  I  wish  Winthrop  Landholm  had  been  here." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  He'd  have  given  you  another  speech  about  engineering." 

Elizabeth  took  her  candle  and  book  and  marched  out  of  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Ono  man  has  one  way  of  talking,  and  another  man  has  another,  that's  all  the  difference 
between  them.  Good-natubkd  Man. 

"Winthrop  found  he  could  go.  So  according  to  his  promise 
he  dressed  himself,  and  was  looking  out  a  pockethandkerchief 
from  the  small  store  in  his  trunk,  when  the  door  opened. 

«  Rufus  ! » 

"Ah! — you  didn't  expect  to  see  me,  did  you?"  said  that 
gentleman,  taking  off  his  hat  and  coming  in  and  closing  the  door 
with  a  face  of  great  life  and  glee. — "  Here  I  am,  Governor  !  " 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?  "  said  his  brother  shaking  his 
hand. 

"  What  brought  me  here  ? — why,  the  stage-coach,  to  be  sure ; 
except  five  miles,  that  I  rode  on  horseback.  What  should  bring 
me?" 

"  Something  of  the  nature  of  a  centrifugal  force,  I  should 
judge." 

"  Centrifugal ! — You  are  my  centre,  Go vernor,— don't  you 
know  that  ?  I  tend  to  you  as  naturally  as  the  poor  earth  does  to 
the  sun.  That's  why  I  am  here — I  couldn't  keep  at  a  distance 
any  linger." 

"  My  dear  sir,  at  that  rate  you  are  running  to  destruction." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Rufus  laughing, — "  there's  a  certain  degree 

of  license  in  our  moral  planetary  system I'm  going  away 

again  as  soon  as  I  am  rightly  refreshed  with  the  communication 
of  your  light  and  warmth." 

u  Well,"  said  Winthrop  untying  his  neckcloth,  "  it  would  seem 

but  courtesy  in  the  sun  to  stand  still  to  receive  his  visitor 

I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  Will." 

"What's  the  matter?" 


186  THE*   HILLS    OF    THE    SIIATEMUC. 

"  The  sun  was  going  out  to  dinner — that's  all, — but  you  are  a 
sufficient  excuse  for  me." 

"  Going  to  dinner  ? — where  ?  " 

"  No.  11,  on  the  Parade." 

"  No.  11  ? — Mr.  Haye's  ?  were  you  ?  I'll  go  too.  I  won't 
hinder  you." 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  bo  hindered,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  But  I  am ! — at  least,  I  should  be.  We'll  both  go.  How 
soon,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Presently." 

"  I'll  be  ready,"  said  Rufus, — "  here's  my  valise — but  my  shirt 

ruffles,  I  fear,  are  in  a  state  of  impoverished  elegance. 1  speak 

not  in  respect  of  one  or  two  holes,  of  which  they  are  the  worse, 
— but  solely  in  reference  to  the  coercive  power  of  narrow  cir- 
cumstances  which  nobody  knows  anything  of  that  hasn^  ex- 
perienced it,"  said  Rufus,  looking  up  from  his  valise  to  his  brother 
with  an  expression  half  earnest,  half  comical. 

"  You  are  not  suffering  under  it  at  this  moment,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

"  Yes  I  am — in  the  form  of  my  frills.     Look  there ! I'll 

tell  you  what  I'll  do — I'll  invoke  the  charities  of  my  good  friend, 
Mrs.  Nettley.  Is  she  down  stairs  ? — I'll  be  back  in  a  moment, 
Winthrop." 

Down  stairs,  shirt  in  hand,  went  Rufus,  and  tapped  at  Mrs. 
Nettley's  door.  That  is,  the  door  of  the  room  where  she  usually 
lived,  a  sort  of  better  class  kitchen,  which  held  the  place  of  what 
in  houses  of  more  pretension  is  called  the  '  back  parlour.'  Mrs. 
Nettley's  own  hand  opened  the  door  at  his  tap. 

She  was  a  strong  contrast  to  her  brother,  with  her  rather 
small  person  and  a  face  all  the  lines  of  which  were  like  a  cobweb 
get  to  catch  every  care  that  was  flying ;  but  woven  by  no  malev- 
olent spider ;  it  was  a  very  nest  of  kindliness  and  good-will. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Nettley,"  said  Rufus  softly. 

"  Why  Mr.  Landholm  ! — are  you  there  ?  Come  in — how  good 
it  is  to  see  you  again !  but  I  didn't  expect  it." 

"  Didn't  expect  to  see  me  again  ?  * 

"No — 0  yes,  of  course,  Mr.  William,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley 
laughing, — "  I  expected  to  see  you  again ;  but  not  now — I  didn't 
expect  to  see  you  when  I  opened  the  door." 

"  I  had  the  advantage,  for  I  did  expect  to  see  you." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Why,  as  well  as  a  man  can  do,  in  want  of  a  shirt,"  said 
Rufus  comically. 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  *  187 

"Mr.  Landholm? " 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Nettley,"  Rufus  went  on,  "  I  have  come  all 
the  way  from  North  Lyttleton  to  dine  with  a  friend  and  my 
brother  here ;  and  now  I  am  come,  I  find  that  without  your  good 
offices  I  haven't  a  ruffle  to  ruffle  myself  withal ;  or  in  other  words, 
I  am  afraid  people  would  think  I  had  packed  myself  bodily  into 
my  valise,  and  thereby  conclude  I  was  a  smaller  affair  than  they 
had  thought  me." 

"  Mr.  Landholm  ! — how  you  do  talk ! — but  can  I  do  any- 
thing ?  " 

u  Why  yes,  ma'am, — or  your  irons  can,  if  you  have  any  hot." 

"  0  that's  it !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nettley  as  Rufus  held  out  the 
crumpled  frills, — "  It's  to  smooth  them, — yes  sir,  my  fire  is  all 
out  a'most,  but  I  can  iron  them  in  the  oven.  I'll  do  it  directly 
Mr.  Landholm." 

"  "Well,"  said  Rufus  with  a  quizzical  face, — "  any  way — if 
you'll  ensure  them  against  damages,  Mrs.  Nettley — I  don't 
understand  all  the  possibilities  of  an  oven." 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  have  your  brother  in  your  room,  Mr. 
Landholm,"  the  good  lady  went  on,  as  she  placed  one  of  her  irons 
in  the  oven's  mouth,  where  a  brilliant  fire  was  at  work. 

"  I  should  think  you  would,  ma'am ;  he  can  fill  it  much  bet- 
ter than  I." 

"  Why  Mr.  Landholm  ! — I  should  think 1  shouldn't  think, 

to  look  at  you,  that  your  brother  would  weigh  much  more  than 
you — he's  broader  shouldered,  something,  but  you're  the  tallest, 
I'm  sure.     But  you  didn't  mean  that." 

"  I  won't  dispute  the  palm  of  beauty  with  him,  Mrs.  Nettley, 
nor  of  ponderosity.     I  am  willing  he  should  exceed  me  in  both." 

"  Why  Mr.  Landholm ! — dear,  I  wish  this  iron  would  get 
hot ;  but  there's  no  hurrying  it ; — I  think  it's  the  wood — I  told 
George  I  think  this  wood  does  not  give  out  the  heat  it  ought  to 
do.  It  makes  it  very  extravagant  wood.  One  has  to  burn  so 
much  more,  and  then  it  doesn't  do  the  work — Why  Mr.  Land- 
holm— you  must  have  patience,  sir Your  brother  is  excellent, 

every  way,  and  he's  very  good  looking,  but  you  are  the  hand- 
somest." 

"  Everybody  don't  think  so,"  Rufus  said,  but  with  a  play  of 
lip  and  brow  that  was  not  on  the  whole  unsatisfied.  Mrs.  Nettley's 
attention  however  was  now  fastened  upon  the  frills.  And  then 
came  in  Mr.  Inchbald ;  and  they  talked,  a  sort  of  whirlwind  of 
talk,  as  his  sister  not  unaptly  described  it ;  and  then,  the  ruffles 


188  '  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

being  in  order  Rufus  put  himself  so,  and  Winthrop  and  lie  talked 
themselves  all  the  way  down  to  No.  11,  on  the  Parade. 

Their  welcome  was  most  hearty,  though  the  company  were  al- 
ready at  table.  Place  was  speedily  made  for  them ;  and  Rufus 
hardly  waited  to  take  his  before  he  became  the  life  and  spirit  or 
the  party.  He  continued  to  be  that  through  the  whole  entertain- 
ment, delighting  everybody's  eye  and  ear.  Winthrop  laughed  at 
his  brother  and  with  him,  but  himself  played  a  very  quiet  part ; 
putting  in  now  and  then  a  word  that  told,  but  doing  it  rarely 
and  carelessly ;  the  flow  and  freshness  of  the  conversation  calling 
for  no  particular  help  from  him. 

Mr.  Herder  was  there  ;  also  Mr.  Satterthwaite,  who  sat  next 
to  Winthrop  and  addressed  several  confidential  and  very  unim- 
portant remarks  to  him,  and  seemed  to  look  upon  his  brother  as 
a  sort  of  meteoric  phenomenon.  President  Darcy,  of  Mr.  Her- 
der's College,  was  the  only  other  guest.  Elizabeth  sat  next  to 
Winthrop,  but  after  the  first  formal  greeting  vouchsafed  not  a 
single  look  his  way ;  she  was  in  a  dignified  mood  for  all  the  com- 
pany generally,  and  Rose's  were  the  only  feminine  words  that 
mixed  with  the  talk  during  dinner.  Very  feminine  they  were,  if 
that  word  implies  a  want  of  strength ;  but  coming  from  such  rosy 
lips,  set  round  about  with  such  smiles  of  winningness,  they  won 
their  way  and  made  easy  entrance  into  all  the  ears  at  table. 
With  the  trifling  exception  of  a  pair  or  two. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  Rose,  when  she  and 
her  cousin  had  left  the  gentlemen  and  were  alone  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  You  don't  say  a  word  ' 

"  I  will,  when  I  have  a  word  to  say." 

"  I  thought  you  always  had  words  enough,"  said  Rose. 

"  Not  when  I  haven't  time  too." 

"  Time  ?  what,  for  words  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  the  time  ?  " 

"  It  was  filled  up." 

"  Well,  you  might  have  helped  fill  it." 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  than  full,  very  well,"  said  Elizabeth 
contemptuously.  "  I  never  want  my  words  to  be  lost  on  the  out- 
side of  a  conversation." 

"  You  think  a  great  deal  of  your  words,"  said  her  cousin. 

"  I  want  other  people  should." 

"You  do!  Well — I  never  expect  them  to  think  much  of 
mine." 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEHTJC.  189 

"  That's  not  true,  Rose." 

"It  isn't?" 

"  No ;  and  your  smile  when  you  said  it  spoke  that  it  wasn't." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  they  are  thought  enough  of,"  said  Rose, 
half  crying. 

Elizabeth  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  within  the  cur- 
tain, looking  out  into  the  street ;  and  Rose  bestowed  her  pouting 
lips  and  brimful  eyes  upon  the  full  view  of  the  fire. 

"  What's  made  you  so  cross  ?  "  she  said  after  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  when  the  tears  were  dried. 

"  I  am  not  cross." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anybody  so  amusing  as  Rufus  Landholm?" 

"  Yes,  he's  amusing. — I  don't  like  people  that  are  too  amusing." 

"  How  can  anybody  be  too  amusing  ?  " 

u  He  can  make  it  too  much  of  his  business." 

"  Who  ?— Rufus  ?  " 

"  No,  anybody.     You  asked  how  anybody  could." 

"  Well  I  dont  see-how  you  can  think  he  is  too  amusing." 

"  Why  that  is  all  you  care  for  in  a  man." 

"  It  isn't !  I  care  for  a  great  deal  else.  What  do  you  care 
for?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  but  I  should 
say,  everything  else." 

"  Well  I  think  people  are  very  stupid  that  aren't  amusing," 
said  Rose. 

Which  proposition  the  ladies  illustrated  for  another  quarter 
of  an  hout. 

The  gentlemen  came  in  then,  one  after  another,  but  Elizabeth 
did  not  move  from  her  window. 

"  I  have  something  of  yours  in  my  possession,  Miss  Haye," 
said  Rufus,  coming  to  the  outside  of  the  curtain  within  which  she 
stood. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  unceremoniously. 

"  Your  father." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

Rufus  laughed  a  little ;  and  Winthrop  remarked  there  was 
nothing  like  straightforward  dealing  to  confound  a  manoeuvrer. 

"  I  have  a  desire  to  put  him  out  of  my  hands,  into  yours," 
said  Rufus ; — "  but  then,  I  have  also  a  desire  to  make  him  fast 
there." 

"  My  bracelet !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

It  had  a  likeness  of  Mr.  Haye  in  cameo. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 


190  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"  Where  you  left  it." 

"  Where  was  that  ?  " 

"  On  the  table,  at  the  left  hand  of  your  plate,  covered  by 
your  napkin." 

Elizabeth  stretched  out  her  hand  for  it, 

"  Not  so  fast — I  have  it  in  my  possession,  as  I  told  you, 
and  I  claim  a  reward  for  recovering  it  from  its  ignoble  con- 
dition." 

"  I  shall  set  my  own  conditions  then,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I 
will  let  anybody  put  it  on,  who  will  do  me  the  pleasure  to  ex- 
plain it  first." 

"  Explain  ?  "  said  Rufus,  looking  in  a  sort  of  comical  doubt  at 
the  cameo ; — "  I  see  the  features  of  Mr.  Haye,  which  never  need 
explanation  to  me." 

"  Not  in  nature  ;  but  do  you  understand  them  when  the}  look 
so  brown  on  a  white  ground  ?  " 

#  They  look  very  natural !  "  said  Rufus  eyeing  the  cameo. 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  do  not  understand  them  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  you  are  the  person  most  difficult  to  understand." 

"  I  don't  ask  that  of  you,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  want  to  know 
about  this  cameo,  for  I  confess  I  don't." 

"  And  I  confess  I  don't,"  said  Rufus.  "  I  didn't  even  know 
it  had  any  other  name  but  Mr.  Haye." 

"  What's  all  this  ?  "  said  Rose, — "  what  are  you  talking  about 
here?" 

"  We  are  talking  about,  we  don't  know  what,"  said  Rufus. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That's  the  question; — nobody  knows." 

"  What  is  the  question  ?  " 

"  Who  shall  put  on  Miss  Elizabeth's  bracelet." 

«  Give  it  to  me— I'll  do  it." 

"  Pardon  me — there  U  said  to  be  reason  in  the  roasting  of 
eggs,  and  there  must  be  a  good  deal  of  reason  before  this  bracelet 
goes  on." 

"  I  want  somebody  to  tell  me  about  the  cameo,"  said  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Well,  won't  somebody  do  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Landholm  can't — I  haven't  asked  Mr.  Winthrop." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Rose  turning  to  him. 

"  I  wasn't  asked,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  But  I  asked  you." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  know,  Miss  Cadwallader  ?  " 

"  No  I  don't.    What's  the  use  of  knowing  about  everything  ? 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  191 

Do  leave  the  cameos,  and  come  over  here  and  sit  down  and  talk 
and  be  comfortable  !  " 

"It's  impossible  for  me  to  be  comfortable,"  said  Rufus. 
"  I've  got  Mr.  Haye  on  my  hands  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  him." 

"  Mr.  Herder !  " — Rose  called  out  to  him, — "  do  come  here 
and  tell  us  about  cameos,  that  we  can  sit  down  and  be  com- 
fortable." 

Very  good-humouredly  the  naturalist  left  Mr.  Haye  and 
came  to  them,  and  presently  was  deep  in  quartz  and  silica,  and 
onyx  and  chalcedony,  and  all  manner  of  stones  that  are  precious. 
He  told  all  that  Elizabeth  wanted  to  know,  and  much  more  than 
she  had  dreamed  of  knowing.  Even  Rose  listened ;  and  Rufus 
was  eagerly  attentive  ;  and  Elizabeth  after  she  had  asked  questions 
as  far  as  her  knowledge  allowed  her  to  push  them,  sighed  and 
wished  she  knew  everything. 

u  Then  you  would  be  more  wise  than  anybody,  Miss  'Elisabet' 
— you  would  be  too  wise.  The  man  who  knows  the  most,  knows 
that  he  knows  little." 

"  Is  that  your  opinion  of  yourself,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  Certainly.  I  do  know  very  little ; — I  will  know  more,  I 
hope." 

"  O  Mr.  Herder,  you  know  enough,"  said  Rose.  "  I  shouldn't 
think  you  would  want  to  study  any  more." 

"  If  I  was  to  say,  I  know  enough, — that  would  be  to  say  that 
I  do  not  know  nozing  at  all." 

"  Mr.  Winthrop,  you  don't  seem  as  interested  as  the  rest  of 
us,"  said  Elizabeth,  perhaps  with  a  little  curiosity;  for  he  had 
stood  quietly  by,  letting  even  Mr.  Satterthwaite  push  himself  in 
between. 

"  0  he,"  said  the  naturalist, — "  he  knows  it  all  before." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  wasn't  asked,"  said  Winthrop  smiling. 

"  Wint'rop  comes  to  my  room  the  nights,"  Mr.  Herder  went 
on, — "  and  he  knows  pretty  well  all  what  is  in  it,  by  this  time. 
When  he  is  tired  himself  wiz  work  at  his  books  and  his  writings, 
he  comes  and  gets  rested  wiz  my  stones  and  my  preparations.  If 
you  will  come  there,  Miss  Elisabet',  I  will  shew  you  crystals  of 
quartz,  and  onyx,  and  all  the  kinds  of  chalcedony,  and  ozer 
things." 

"And  I  too,  Mr.  Herder?"  said  Rose. 

"  Wiz  pleasure,  Miss  Rose, — if  you  like." 
_  "  Mr.  Herder,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  don't  you  love  every* 
thing  very  much  ?  " 


192  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  I  love  you  very  much,  Miss  Rose,"  said  the  naturalist,  turn- 
ing his  good-humoured  handsome  face  full  upon  her, — "  I  do  not 
know  about  every  zing." 

"  No,  but  I  mean  all  animals  and  insects,  and  everything 
that  lives  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  love  everyzing  that  lives,"  said  the  naturalist 
smiling.  ."  I  do  not  love  Mr.  Heinfelt." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Heinfelt  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  He  is  a  man  what  I  do  not  love." 

"  No,  but  Mr.  Herder,  I  mean,  don't  you  love  other  things 
very  much — animals,  and  such  things  ?  You  have  so  much  to  do 
with  them." 

"  No — I  have  no  love  to  spare  for  animals,"  he  said  with  a 
grave  face. 

"  Don't  you  love  birds  and  animals,  that  you  are  always  after 
and  busy  with  ?  " 

"  No,J'  said  the  naturalist, — "  I  do  not  love  them — I  love 
what  is  bach  of  all  that — not  the  animals.  I  keep  my  love  for 
men." 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  any  more  in  that  direction,  for  keep- 
ing it  from  the  others  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  do  not  understand — " 

"  Do  you  think  you  love  men  any  better  because  you  don't 
give  animals  any  love  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  do  love  some  animals,"  said  Mr.  Herder.  "  I  had  a  horse 
once,  when  I  lived  in  Germany,  that  I  did  love.  I  loved  him  so 
well,  that  when  a  man  did  insult  my  horse,  I  made  him  fight 
me." 

Rose  exclaimed ;  Elizabeth  smiled  significantly ;  and  Win- 
throp  remarked, 

"  So  that's  the  way  your  love  for  men  shews  itself !  " 

"  No,"  said  the  naturalist, — "  no, — I  never  did  ask  a  man  to 
meet  me  more  than  that  one  time.  And  I  did  not  hurt  him 
much.     I  only  want  to  punish  him  a  little." 

"  Why  Mr.  Herder  1 "  Rose  repeated.  "  I  didn't  think  you 
would  do  such  a  thing." 

"  Everybody  fight  in  Germany,"  said  the  naturalist;  they  all 
fight  at  the  Universites — they  must  fight.  I  found  the  only  way 
was  to  make  myself  so  good  swordsman  that  I  should  be  safe." 

"  And  have  you  fought  many  duels  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes — I  havje  fought — I  have  been  obliged  by  circumstances 
to  fight  a  good  many. 1  have  seen  two  hundred." 

"  Two  hundred  duels,  Mr.  Herder !  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  193 

"  Yes. — I  have  seen  four  men  killed." 

u  Were  you  ever  hurt,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  No — I  never  was  wounded.  I  saw  how  it  was — that  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  excel  ozers ;  so  as  in  ozer  things,  I  did  in 
this." 

"  But  how  came  you,  who  love  men  so  well,  to  have  so  much 
to  do  with  hurting  them,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  help  it,  Miss  Elisabet',"  said  the  naturalist. 
"  They  fight  for  nozing — they  fight  for  nozing.  I  never  asked  one, 
but  I  have  been  oblige  to  fight  a  good  many.  The  students  make 
themselves  into  clubs ;  and  the  way  is,  when  two  students  of  dif- 
ferent clubs,  get  in  a  quarrel,  their  presidents  must  fight  it  out ; 
— so  they  meet  people  in  duels  that  they  have  never  spoken  to, 
nor  seen.  I  will  give  you  an  instance. — One  of  these  fellows — 
a  great  fighter — he  had  fought  perhaps  forty  times, — he  was  brag- 
ging about  it ,  'he  had  fought  such  one  and  such  one,'  he  said ; 
— '  perhaps  he  ought  to  have  fought  Herder,  in  order  to  say  that 
he  was  the  best  man  with  the  sword  of  all  the  German  students, 
— perhaps  he  ought  to  have  met  Herder,  but  he  didn't  care  about 
it ! '  And  a  young  fellow  that  heard  him,  that  was  by,  he  took 
it  up ;  *  Sir,'  said  he,  '  Herder  is  my  friend — you  must  fight  him 
— come  to  my  room  to-morrow  morning  at  seven  o'clock — he  will 
meet  you ; ' — '  very  well,'  they  agree  upon  the  matter  togezer. 
The  next  morning  he  come  bouncing  into  my  room  at  a  quarter 
after  seven — *  Herder  !  Herder !  come  on ! — Lessing  is  waiting  to 
fight  you  in  my  room.' — 'What  is  the  matter  ? ' — *  0,  Lessing  said 
so  and  so,  and  I  told  him  you  would  fight  him  at  seven,  and  it  is 
a  quarter  past ' — '  Well,  you  tell  him  I  didn't  know  of  this,  I  am 
not  keeping  him  waiting;  I  will  come  directly.' — I  was  not  up. 
So  I  got  myself  dressed,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  was  there.  A 
duel  is  finished  when  they  have  given  twelve  blows  " 

"  Twelve  on  each  side,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"Yes — when  they  have  both  of  them  given  twelve  blows 
apiece.  Before  we  begun,  Lessing  and  me,  I  whispered  to  some- 
body who  stood  there,  that  I  would  not  touch  him  unless  he 
touched  me ;  and  then  I  would  give  it  to  him  in  the  ribs.  I  re- 
ceived ten  blows  on  my  arm,  which  is  covered  wiz  a  long  glove ; 
the  eleven,  he  cut  my  waistcoat — I  had  one  blow  left,  and  I  gave 
it  to  him  in  the  ribs  so  long " 

Mr.  Herder's  words  were  filled  out  by  the  position  of  his  fore 
fingers,  which  at  this  juncture  were  held  some  seven  or  eight 
inches  apart. 

"  0  Mr.  Herder ! — did  you  kill  him  !  "  exclaimed  Rose. 
9 


194  THE  HILLS    OF   THE   SHATEMUO. 

"  Not  at  all — I  did  not  kill  him — he  was  very  good  friend  of 
mine, — he  was  not  angry  wiz  me.  He  said,  '  when  I  get  well, 
Herder,  you  come  to  breakfast  wiz  me  in  my  room ; '  and  I  said, 
yes  ! ' " 

"  Is  that  kind  of  thing  permitted  in  the  Universities,  Mr. 
Herder  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Permit  ? — No,  it  is  not  permitted.  They  would  hinder  it 
if  they  could." 

"  What  would  have  been  done  to  you  if  you  had  been  found 
out?" 

"  Humph ! — They  would  have  shut  us  up !  "  said  Mr.  Herder, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  In  your  rooms  ?  " 

"No — not  exactly; — in  the  fortress.  At  Munich  the  pun- 
ishment for  being  found  out,  is  eight  years  in  the  fortress ; — at 
ozer  places,  four  or  five  years ; — yet  they  will  fight." 

"  How  many  Universities  have  you  been  in,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 
said  Rose. 

"I  have  been  in  seven,  of  Universites  in  Europe." 

"  Fighting  duels  in  all  of  them  !  " 

"  Well,  yes ; — no,  there  was  one  where  I  did  fight  no  duel. 
I  was  not  there  long  enough." 

"  Mr.  Herder,  I  am  shocked !  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it  of 
you." 

u  The  bracelet,  Mr.  Herder,  I  believe  is  yours,"  said  Rufus. 

"  Mine  ?  " — said  the  naturalist. 

"  Miss  Elizabeth  would  allow  no  one  to  put  it  on  her  hand, 
but  a  philosopher." 

"  That  is  too  great  an  honour  for  me, — I  am  not  young  and 
gallant  enough — I  shall  depute  you," — said  Mr.  Herder  putting 
the  cameo  in  Winthrop's  hand. 

But  Winthrop  remarked  that  he  could  not  take  deputed 
honours ;  and  quietly  laid  it  in  the  hand  of  its  owner.  Elizabeth, 
with  a  face  a  little  blank,  clasped  it  on  for  herself.  Rufus  looked 
somewhat  curious  and  somewhat  amused. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  say  of  my  brother,  Miss  Haye,  that 
though  certainly  young  enough,  he  is  not  very  gallant,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth  gave  no  answer  to  this  speech,  nor  sign  of  hearing, 
unless  it  might  be  gathered  from  the  cool  free  air  with  which  she 
made  her  way  out  of  the  group  and  left  them  at  the  window. 
She  joined  herself  to  President  Darcy,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
fire,  and  engaged  him  in  talk  with  her  about  different  gems 
and  the  engraving  of  them,  so  earnestly  that  she  had  no  eyes  nor 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SIIATEMUO.  195 

ears  for  anybody  else.  And  when  any  of  the  gentlemen  brought 
her  refreshments,  she  took  or  refused  them  almost  without  ac- 
knowledgment, and  always  without  lifting  her  eyes  to  see  to 
whom  it  might  be  due. 

The  company  were  all  gone,  and  a  little  pause,  of  rest  or  of 
musing,  had  followed  the  last  spoken  'good  night.'  It  was 
musing  on  Elizabeth's  part ;  for  she  broke  it  with, 

"  Father,  if  you  can  give  Mr.  Landholm  aid  in  any  way,  I 
hope  you  will." 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  father,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do. 
I  did  offer  to  set  him  a  going  in  business,  but  he  don't  like  my  line; 
and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  his,  away  up  in  the  North  there 
among  the  mountains." 

"01  don't  mean  that  Mr.  Landholm — I  mean  the  other." 

"  Winthrop,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Elizabeth  likes  him  much  the  best,"  said  Miss  Cadwallader. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Neither  do  I !  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  think  he  is  worth  at  least  ten  of 
his  brother." 

"  She  likes  him  so  well,  that  if  you  don't  help  him,  dear  Mr. 
Haye,  there  is  every  likelihood  that  somebody  else  will." 

"  I  certainly  would,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  if  there  was  any  way 
that  I  could.     But  there  is  not." 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  wants  help,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Why  he  must,  father ! — he  can't  live  upon  nothing ;  how 
much  means  do  you  suppose  he  has  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  at  the  chop-house  the  other  day,"  said  Mr.  Haye ; 
— "  he  was  eating  a  very  good  slice  of  roast  beef.  I  dare  say 
he  paid  for  it." 

"  But  he  is  struggling  to  make  his  way  up  into  his  profession," 
said  Elizabeth.     "  He  must  be." 

"  What  must  he  be  ?  "  said  Hose. 

"  Struggling." 

"  Perhaps  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  "  but  he  don't  say  so.  If  I 
see  him  struggling,  I  will  try  what  I  can  do." 

"  Oh  father ! " 

"  Why  should  Winthrop  Landholm  be  helped,"  said  Hose, 
*  more  than  all  the  other  young  men  who  are  studying  in  the 
city  ?  " 

"  Because  I  know  him,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  and  don't  happen  to 
know  the  others.     And  because  I  like  him." 

u  I  like  him  too,"  said  her  father  yawning,  u  but  I  don't  know 


196'  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

anything  very  remarkable  about  Him.  I  like  his  brother  the 
best." 

"  He  is  honest,  and  good,  and  independent"  said  Elizabeth , 
"  and  those  are  the  very  people  that  ought  to  be  helped." 

"  And  those  are  the  very  people  that  it  is  difficult  to  help," 
said  her  father.  "  How  do  you  suppose  he  would  take  it,  if  I  were 
to  offer  him  a  fifty  dollar  note  to-morrow  ?  " 

"I  don't  suppose  he  would  take  it  at  all,"  said  Elizabeth. 
11  You  couldn't  help  him  so.     But  there  are  other  ways." 

"  You  may  give  him  all  your  business,  when  he  gets  into  his 
profession,"  said  Mr.  Haye.  "  I  don't  know  what  else  you  can 
do.  Or  you  can  use  your  influence  with  Mr.  Satterthwaite  to  get 
his  father  to  employ  him." 

"  You  and  he  may  both  be  very  glad  to  do  it  yet,"  said  Eliz- 
abeth.    "  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  why  you  are  concerned  about  him,"  said 
Bose. 

Elizabeth  was  silent,  with  a  face  that  might  be  taken  to 
say  there  was  nobody  within  hearing  worthy  of  her  words. 

Bufus  went  back  to  his  work  in  the  mountains,  and  Win- 
throp  struggled  on ;  if  most  diligent  and  unsparing  toil,  and  patient 
denying  himself  of  necessary  and  wished-for  things,  were  struggling. 
It  was  all  his  spare  time  could  do  to  make  clear  the  way  for  the  hours 
given  to  his  profession.  There  was  little  leisure  for  rest,  and  he 
had  no  means  to  bestow  on  pleasure ;  and  that  is  a  very  favoura- 
ble stating  of  the  case  as  far  as  regards  the  last  item.  Mr.  Inch- 
bald  never  asked  for  rent,  and  never  had  it ;  not  in  those  days. 
That  the  time  would  come,  Winthrop  believed ;  and  his  kind  host 
never  troubled  himself  to  inquire. 

There  were  pleasures,  however,  that  Winthrop  could  not  buy 
and  which  were  very  freely  his.  Mr.  Herder's  friendship  intro- 
duced him  to  society,  some  of  the  best  worth  to  be  found,  and 
which  opened  itself  circle  after  circle  to  let  him  in.  He  had  the 
freedom  of  President  Darcy's  house,  and  of  Mr.  Haye's,  where 
he  met  other  sets ;  in  all,  covering  the  whole  ground  of  Manna- 
hatta  good  society ;  and  in  all  which  Winthrop  could  not  but 
know  he  was  gladly  seeD.  He  had  means  and  facilities  for  social 
enjoyment,  more,  by  many,  than  he  chose  to  avail  himself  of; 
facilities  that  did  not  lack  temptation.  In  Mr.  Herder's  set, 
Winthrop  often  was  found ;  other  houses  in  the  city  saw  him  but 
rarely. 

There  was  an. exception, — he  was  often  at  Mr.  Haye's;  why, 
it  did  not  very  plainly  appear.     He  was  certainly  made  welcome 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  197 

by  the  family,  but  so  lie  was  by  plenty  of  other  families ;  and  the 
house  had  not  a  more  pleasant  set  of  familiars  than  several  other 
houses  could  boast.  Mr.  Have  had  no  sort  of  objection  to  giving 
him  so  much  countenance  and  encouragement ;  and  Rose  kept  all 
her  coldness  and  doubtful  speeches  for  other  times  than  those 
when  he  was  near.  Elizabeth  held  very  much  her  old  manner ; 
in  general  chose  to  have  little  to  do  with  him ;  either  haughtily 
or  carelessly  distant,  it  might  be  taken  for  one  or  the  other. 
Though  ivhich  it  might  be  taken  for,  seemed  to  give  no  more  con- 
cern to  the  gentleman  in  question  than  it  did  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A  man  may  hear  tbis  shower  sin*,  in  the  wind. 

Mekry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

One  summer's  afternoon, — this  was  the  first  summer  of  Win- 
throp's  being  in  Mannahatta, — he  went  to  solace  himself  with  a 
walk  out  of  town.  It  was  a  long  and  grave  and  thoughtful  walk ; 
so  that  Mr.  Landholm  really  had  very  little  good  of  the  bright 
summer  light  upon  the  grass  and  trees.  Furthermore,  he  did  not 
even  find  it  out  when  this  light  was  curtained  in  the  west  with  a 
thick  cloud,  which  straightway  became  gilt  and  silver-edged  in 
a  marvellous  and  splendid  degree.  The  cloud  of  thought  was 
thicker  than  that,  if  not  quite  so  brilliant ;  and  it  was  not  until 
low  growls  of  thunder  began  to  salute  his  ear,  that  he  looked  up 
and  found  the  silver  edge  fast  mounting  to  the  zenith  and  the  cur- 
tain drawing  its  folds  all  around  over  the  clear  blue  sky.  His 
next  look  was  earthward,  for  a  shelter ;  for  at  the  rate  that  chariot 
of  the  storm  was  travelling  he  knew  he  had  not  many  minutes  to  seek 
one  before  the  storm  would  be  upon  him.  Happily  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  that  he  would  certainly  have  passed  without  seeing  it,  stood 
at  a  little  distance ;  and  Winthrop  thankfully  made  for  it.  He 
found  it  deserted ;  and  secure  of  a  refuge,  took  his  place  at  the  door 
to  watch  the  face  of  things ;  for  though  the  edge  of  the  town  was 
near,  the  storm  was  nearer,  and  it  would  not  do  to  run  for  it. 
The  blackness  covered  everything  now,  changing  to  lurid  light 
in  the  storm  quarter,  and  big  scattered  drops  began  to  come 
plashing  down.  This  time  Winthrop's  mind  was  so  much  in  the 
clouds  that  he  did  not  know  what  was  going  on  in  the  earth ;  for 
while  he  stood  looking  and  gazing,  two  ladies  almost  ran  over 
him.  Winthrop's  senses  came  back  to  the  door  of  the  black- 
smith's shop,  and  the  ladies  recovered  themselves. 


THE  HILLS    OF    THE   SHATEMTJC.  199 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  the  one,  with  a  bow. 

"  0  Mr.  Winthrop !  "  cried  the  other, — "  what  shall  we  do  ? 
we  can't  get  home,  and  I'm  so  frightened ! " 

Winthrop  had  not  time  to  open  his  lips,  for  either  civility  or 
consolation,  when  a  phaeton,  coming  at  a  furious  rate,  suddenly 
pulled  up  before  them,  and  Mr.  Satterthwaite  jumped  out  of  it 
and  joined  himself  to  the  group.  His  business  was  to  persuade 
Miss  Haye  to  take  the  empty  place  in  his  carriage  and  escape 
with  him  to  the  shelter  of  her  own  house  or  his  father's.  Miss 
Haye  however  preferred  getting  wet,  and  walking  through  the 
mud,  and  being  blinded  with  the  lightning,  all  of  which  alterna- 
tives Mr.  Satterthwaite  presented  to  her ;  at  least  no  other  con- 
clusion could  be  drawn,  for  she  very  steadily  and  coolly  refused 
to  ride  home  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Mr.  Satterthwaite  in  desperation, 
"  don't  you  advise  Miss  Haye  to  agree  to  my  proposition  ?  " 

"  I  never  give  advice,  sir,"  said  Winthrop,  "  after  I  see  that 
people's  minds  are  made  up.  Perhaps  Miss  Cadwallader  may  be 
less  stubborn." 

Mr.  Satterthwaite  could  do  no  other  than  turn  to  Miss  Cad- 
wallader, who  wanted  very  little  urging. 

"  But  Rose  !  "  said  her  cousin, — "  you're  not  going  to  leave 
me  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Rose.  "  I'm  sure  you've  got  somebody 
with  you;  and  he's  got  an  umbrella." 

"  Don't,  Rose  !  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  stay  and  go  home  with  me 
— the  storm  will  be  ovei^directly." 

"  It  won't — I  can't,"  said  Rose, — "  It  won't  be  over  this  hour, 
and  I'm  afraid " 

And  into  Mr.  Satterthwaite's  phaeton  she  jumped,  and  away 
Mr.  Satterthwaite's  phaeton  went,  with  him  and  her  in  it. 

"  You  had  better  step  under  shelter,  Miss  Haye,"  said  Win- 
throp ;  "  it  is  beginning  to  sprinkle  pretty  fast." 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  I'll  go  home — I  don't  mind  it.  I 
would  rather  go  right  home — I  don't  care  for  the  rain." 

"  But  you  can't  go  without  the  umbrella,"  said  Winthrop, 
"  and  that  belongs  to  me." 

"  Well,  won't  you  go  with  me  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  with  a  look 
half  doubtful  and  half  daunted. 

"  Yes,  as  soon  as  it  is  safe.  This  is  a  poor  place,  but  it  is 
better  than  nothing.  You  must  come  in  here  and  have  patience 
till  then." 

He  went  in  and  Elizabeth  followed  him,  and  she  stood  there 


200  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

looking  very  doubtful  and  very  much  annoyed ;  eyeing  the  fast 
falling  drops  as  if  her  impatience  could  dry  them  up.  The  little 
smithy  was  black  as  such  a  place  should  be ;  nothing  looked  like 
a  seat  but  the  anvil,  and  that  was  hardly  safe  to  take  advan- 
tage of. 

"  I  wish  there  was  something  here  for  you  to  sit  down  upon," 
said  Winthrop  peering  about, — "  but  everything  is  like  Vulcan's 
premises.  It  is  a  pity  I  am  not  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  for  your  be- 
hoof; for  I  suppose  Sir  Walter  didn't  mind  walking  home  with- 
out his  coat,  and  I  do." 

"  He  only  threw  off  his  cloak,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  never  thought  of  wearing  mine  this  afternoon,"  said  Win- 
throp, "  though  I  brought  an  umbrella.  But  see  here,  Miss 
Elizabeth, — here  is  a  box,  one  end  of  which,  I  think,  may  be 
trusted.     Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

Elizabeth  took  the  box,  seeming  from  some  cause  or  other 
tongue-tied.  She  sat  looking  out  through  the  open  door  at  the 
storm  in  a  mixture  of  feelings,  the  uppermost  of  which  was 
vexation. 

"  I  hope  more  than  one  end  of  this  box  may  be  trusted,"  she 
presently  roused  herself  to  say.  "  I  have  no  idea  of  giving  half 
trust  to  anything." 

"  Yet  that  is  quite  as  much  as  it  is  safe  to  give  to  most 
things,"  said  Winthrop. 

"Is  it?" 

"  I  am  afraid  so." 

"  I  wouldn't  give  a  pin  for  anything  Wouldn't  trust  entirely," 
said  Elizabeth. 

"  Which  shews  what  a  point  of  perfection  the  manufacture  of 
pins  has  reached  since  the  days  of  Anne  Boleyn,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Of  Anne  Boleyn  I— What  of  them  then  ?  " 

"  Only  that  a  statute  was  passed  in  that  time,  entitled,  '  An 
act  for  the  .true  making  of  pins ;  '  so  I  suppose  they  were  then 
articles  of  some  importance.  But  the  box  may  be  trusted,  Miss 
Haye,  for  strength,  if  not  for  agreeableness.  A  quarter  of  agree- 
ableness  with  a  remainder  of  strength,  is  a  fair  proportion,  as 
things  go." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  compare  life  with  this  dirty  box  ?  "  said 
Elizabeth. 

"  They  say  an  image  should  always  elevate  the  subject,"  said 
Winthrop  smiling. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  the  making  of  pins,"  said  Eliza- 
beth, "  that  an  act  had  to  be  made  about  it  ?  " 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTTC.  201 

"  Why  in  those  days,"  said  Winthrop,  "  mechanics  and  trades- 
people were  in  the  habit  occasionally  of  playing  false,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  look  after  them." 

Elizabeth  sat  silently  looking  out  again,  wondering — what 
she  had  often  wondered  before — where  ever  her  companion  had 
got  his  cool  self-possession;  marvelling,  with  a  little  impatient 
wonder,  how  it  was  that  he  would  just  as  lief  talk  to  her  in  a 
blacksmith's  shop  in  a  thunder-storm,  as  in  anybody's  drawing- 
room  with  a  band  playing  and  fifty  people  about.  She  was  no 
match  for  him,  for  she  felt  a  little  awkward.  She,  Miss  Haye, 
the  heiress  in  her  own  right,  who  had  lived  in  good  company  ever 
since  she  had  lived  in  company  at  all.  Yet  there  be  stood,  more 
easily,  she  felt,  than  she  sat.  She  sat  looking  straight  out  at  the 
rain  and  thinking  of  it. 

The  open  doorway  and  her  vision  were  crossed  a  moment 
a£W  oy  a  figure  which  put  these  thoughts  out  of  her  head.  It 
was  the  figure  of  a  little  black  girl,  going  by  through  the  rain, 
with  an  old  basket  at  her  back  which  probably  held  food  or  firing 
that  she  had  been  picking  up  along  the  streets  of  the  city.  She 
wore  a  wretched  old  garment  which  only  half  covered  her,  and 
that  was  already  half  wet ;  her  feet  and  ancles  were  naked  ;  and 
the  rain  came  down  on  her  thick  curly  head.  No  doubt  she  was 
accustomed  to  it ;  the  road- worn  feet  must  have  cared  little  for 
wet  or  dry,  and  the  round  shock  of  wool  perhaps  never  had  a 
covering ;  yet  it  was  bowed  to  the  rain,  and  the  little  blackey 
went  by  with  lagging  step  and  a  sort  of  slow  crying.  It  touched 
Elizabeth  with  a  disagreeable  feeling  of  pain.  The  thought  had 
hardly  crossed  her  mind,  that  she  was  sorry  for  her,  when  to  her 
great  surprise  she  saw  her  companion  go  to  the  door  and  ask  the 
little  object  of  her  pity  to  come  in  under  the  shed.  The  child 
stopped  her  slow  step  and  her  crying  and  looked  up  at  him. 
"  Come  in  here  till  the  rain's  over,"  he  repeated. 
She  gave  her  head  a  sort  of  matter-of-course  shake,  without 
moving  a  pair  of  intelligent  black  eyes  which  had  fixed  on  his 
face. 

"  Come  in,"  said  "Winthrop. 

The  child  shook  her  head  again,  and  said, 

"  Can't !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"Mustn't!" 

"  Why  mustn't  you  ?  " 

u  'Cause." 

"Come  in," 'said  Winthrop, — and  to  Elizabeth's  exceeding 
9* 


202  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

astonishment  he  laid  hold  of  the  little  black  shoulder  and  drew  tho 
girl  into  the  shop, — "  it  is  going  to  storm  hard ; — why  mustn't 
you  ?  " 

The  little  blackey  immediately  squatted  herself  down  on  the 
ground  against  the  wall,  and  looking  up  at  him  repeated, 

"  'Cause." 

"  It's  going  to  he  a  bad  storm ; — you'll  be  better  under 
here." 

The  child's  eyes  went  out  of  the  door  for  a  moment,  and  then 
came  back  to  his  face,  as  if  with  a  sort  of  fascination. 

"  How  far  have  you  to  go  ?  " 

«  Home." 

"  How  far  is  that  ?  " 

"  It's  six  miles,  I  guess,"  said  the  owner  of  the  eyes. 

"  That's  too  far  for  you  to  go  in  the  storm.  The  lightning 
might  kill  you." 

"  Kill  me !  " 

"Yes.     It  might." 

"  I  guess  I'd  be  glad  if  it  did,"  she  said,  with  another  glance 
at  the  storm. 

"  Glad  if  it  did !— why?" 

"  'Cause." 

"  'Cause  what  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  entering  more  into  the  child's 
interests,  Elizabeth  thought,  than  he  had  done  into  hers. 

"  'Cause,"  repeated  the  blackey. — "  I  don't  want  to  get 
home." 

"  "Who  do  you  live  with  ?  " 

"  I  live  with  my  mother,  when  I'm  to  home." 

"  Where  do  you  live  when  you  are  not  at  home  ?  " 

"  Nowheres." 

The  gathered  storm  came  down  at  this  point  with  great  fury. 
The  rain  fell,  whole  water ;  little  streams  even  made  their  way 
under  the  mils  of  the  shanty  and  ran  across  the  floor.  The  dark- 
ness asked  no  help  from  black  walls  and  smoky  roof. 

"  Isn't  this  better  than  to  be  out  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  after  his 
eyes  had  been  for  a^  moment  drawn  without  by  the  tremendous 
pouring  of  the  rain.  But  the  little  black  girl  looked  at  it  and 
said  doggedly, 

"  I  don't  care." 

u  Where  have  you  been  with  that  basket  ?  " 

"  Down  yonder — where  all  the  folks  goes,"  she  said  with  a 
slight  motion  of  her  head  towards  the  built-up  quarter  of  the 
country. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  203 

"  Do  you  bring  wood  all  the  way  from  thore  on  your  back  ?  " 

"  When  I  get  some." 

"  Aren't  you  tired  ?  " 

The  child  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  then  in  a  strange  some- 
what softened  manner  which  belied  her  words,  answered, 

"  No." 

"  You  don't  bring  that  big  basket  full,  do  you  ?  " 

She  kept  her  bright  eyes  on  him  and  nodded. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  break  your  back." 

"  If  I  don't  break  my  back  I  get  a  lickin'." 

"  Was  that  what  you  were  crying  for  as  you  went  by  ?  " 

"  I  wa'n't  a  cryin' !  "  said  the  girl.  "  Nobody  never  see  me  a 
cry  in'  for  nothin' !  " 

"  You  haven't  filled  your  basket  to-day." 

She  gave  an  askant  look  into  it,  and  was  silent. 

"  How  came  that  ?  " 

"  'Cause  ! — I  was  tired,  and  I  hadn't  had  no  dinner  and  I 
don.'t  care  !  That's  why  I  wished  the  thunder  would  kill  :ne.  I 
can't  live  without  eatin'." 

"  Have  you  had  nothing  since  morning  ?  " 

"  I  don't  get  no  mornin' — I  have  to  get  my  dinner." 

"  And  you  could  get  none  to-day  ?  " 

"  No.     Everything  was  eat  up." 

"  Everything  isn't  quite  eaten  up,"  said  Winthrop,  rummaging 
in  his  coat  pocket ;  and  he  brought  forth  thence  a  paper  of  figs 
which  he  gave  the  girl.  "  He  isn't  so  short  of  means  as  I  feared, 
after  all,"  thought  Elizabeth,  "  since  he  can  afford  to  carry  figs 
about  in  his  pocket."  But  she  did  not  know  that  the  young 
gentleman  had  made  his  own  dinner  off  that  paper  of  figs ;  and 
she  could  not  guess  it,  ever,  when  from  his  other  coat  pocket  he 
produced  some  biscuits  which  were  likewise  given  to  eke  out  the 
figs  in  the  little  black  girl's  dinner.  She  was  presently  roused 
to  very  great  marvelling  again  by  seeing  him  apply  his  foot  to 
another  box,  one  without  a  clean  side,  and  roll  it  over  half  the 
length  of  the  shed  for  the  child  to  sit  upon. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  life  now,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  "  he  said, 
leaving  his  charge  to  eat  her  figs  and  coming  again  to  the  young 
lady's  side. 

"  That  isn't  life,"  said  Elizabeth. 

u  It  seems  without  the  one  quarter  of  agreeableness,"  he  said. 
"  But  it's  horrible,  Mr.  Winthrop  !— " 

He  was  silent,  and  looked  at  the  girl,  who  sitting  on  her  coal 
box  was  eating  figs  and  biscuits  with  intense  satisfaction. 


204  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  She  is  not  a  bad-looking  child,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  She  is  a  very  good-looking  child,"  said  Winthrop ;  "  at 
least  her  face  has  a  great  deal  of  intelligence ;  and  I  think,  some- 
thing more." 

"What  more?" 

"  Feeling,  or  capacity  of  feeling." 

"  I  wish  you  had  a  seat,  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Elizabeth, 
looking  round. 

"  Thank  you — I  don't  wish  for  one." 

"  It  was  very  vexatious  in  Rose  to  go  and  leave  me  ! " 

"  There  isn't  another  box  for  her  if  she  had  stayed,"  said 
Winthrop. 

"  She  would  have  me  go  out  with  her  this  afternoon  to  saee  her 
dressmaker,  who  lives  just  beyond  here  a  little ;  and  father  had 
the  horses.  It  was  so  pleasant  an  afternoon,  I  had  no  notion  of 
a  storm." 

"  There's  a  pretty  good  notion  of  a  storm  now,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

So  there  was,  beyond  a  doubt ;  the  rain  was  falling  in  floods, 
and  the  lightning  and  thunder,  though  not  very  near,  were  very 
unceasing.  Elizabeth  still  felt  awkward  and  uneasy,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  talk  about.  She  never  had  talked  much  to  Mr. 
Landholm ;  and  his  cool  matter-of-fact  way  of  answering  her  re- 
marks, puzzled  or  baffled  her. 

"  That  child  sitting  there  makes  me  very  uncomfortable,"  she 
said  presently. 

"  Why,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

Elizabeth  hesitated,  and  then  said  she  did  not  know. 

"  You  don't  like  the  verification  of  my  setting  forth  of  life,' 
he  said  smiling. 

"  But  that  is  not  life,  Mr.  Winthrop." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  experience  of  one  here  and  there — not  of  people  in 
general." 

"  What  do  you  take  to  be  the  experience  of  people  in 
general .?  " 

"  Not  mine,  to  be  sure,"  said  Elizabeth  after  a  little  thought, 
— "nor  hers." 

"  Hers  is  a  light  shade  of  what  rests  upon  many." 

"  Why  Mr.  Winthrop  !  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Look  at  her,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice ; — "  she  has  forgotten 
her  empty  basket  in  a  sweet  fig." 

"  But  she  must  take  it  up  again." 


^ 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMtJC.  205 

"  She  won't  lessen  her  burden,  but  she  will  her  power  of 
forgetting." 

Elizabeth  sat  still,  looking  at  her  vis-a-vis  of  life,  and  feeling 
very  uneasily  what  she  had  never  felt  before.  She  began  there- 
with to  ponder  sundry  extraordinary  propositions  about  the 
inequalities  of  social  condition  and  the  relative  duties  of  man 
to  man. 

"  What  right  have  I,"  she  said  suddenly,  "to  so  much  more 
than  she  has  ?  " 

"  Yery  much  the  sort  of  right  that  I  have  to  be  an  American 
while  somebody  else  is  a  Chinese." 

"  Chance,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  No,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance/  ae  said  seriously. 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  The  fruit  of  industry,  talent,  and  circumstance." 

"  Not  mine." 

"  No,  but  your  father's,  who  gives  it  to  you." 

"  But  why  ought  I  to  enjoy  more  than  she  does  ? — in  the  ab 
stract,  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Winthrop. — "  I  guess  we  had  better 
walk  on  now,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  Walk  on  ! — it  rains  too  hard." 

"  But  we  are  in  the  shed,  while  other  people  are  out  ?  " 

"  No  but, — suppose  that  by  going  out  I  could  bring  them 
in?" 

"  Then  I  would  certainly  act  as  your  messenger,"  he  said 
smiling.  "  But  you  can't  reach  all  the  people  who  are  so  careless 
as  to  go  out  witheut  umbrellas." 

Elizabeth  was  betrayed  into  a  laugh — a  genuine  hearty  laugh 
of  surprise,  in  which  her  awkwardness  was  for  a  moment  forgotten, 

"  How  came  you  to  bring  one,  such  a  day  ?  " 

"  I  thought  the  sun  was  going  to  shine." 

"  But  seriously,  Mr.  Landholm,  my  question," — said  Elizabeth 

"What  was  it?" 

"  How  ought  I  to  enjoy  so  much  more  than  she  has  ?  " 

"  Modestly,  I  should  think." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

u  If  you  were  to  give  the  half  of  your  fortune  to  one  such,  for 
instance,"  he  said  with  a  slight  smile,  "  do  you  fancy  you  would 
have  adjusted  two  scales  of  the  social  balance  to  hang  even  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  I  suppose  not." 

"  You  would  have  given  away  what  she  could  not  keep ;  you 
would  have  put  out  of  your  power  what  would  not  be  in  hers ; 


206  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

and  on  the  whole,  she  would  be  scantly  a  gainer  and  the  world 
would  be  a  loser." 

"  Yet  surely,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  something  is  due  from  my 
hand  to  hers." 

Her  companion  was  quite  silent,  rather  oddly,  she  thought; 
and  her  meditations  came  back  for  a  moment  from  social  to  indi- 
vidual distinctions  and  differences.  Then,  really  in  a  puzzle  as 
to  the  former  matter,  she  repeated  her  question. 

"  But  what  can  one  do  to  them,  then,  Mr.  Winthrcp  ? — or 
what  should  be  one's  aim  ?  " 

"  Put  them  in  the  way  of  exercising  the  talent  and  industry 
and  circumstance  which  have  done  such  great  things  for  us." 

"  So  that  by  the  time  they  have  the  means  they  will  be  ready 

for  them  ? But  dear  me  !  that  is  a  difficult  matter !  "  said 

Elizabeth. 

Her  companion  smiled  a  little. 

"  But  they  haven't  any  talent,  Mr.  Landholm, — nor  industry 
nor  circumstance  either.  To  be  sure  those  latter  wants  might  be 
made  up." 

"  Most  people  have  talent,  of  one  sort  or  another,"  said  Win- 
throp.     "  There's  a  little  specimen  pretty  well  stocked." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Try  her." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  try  her !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  wish 
you  would." 

"  I  don't  know  how,  either,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Circumstances, 
have  been  doing  it  this  some  time." 

"  I  wish  she  hadn't  come  in,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  She  has  unset- 
tled all  my  ideas." 

"  They  will  rest  the  better  for  being  unsettled." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  tim,  but  he  did  not  acknowledge  the 
look.  Presently,  whether  to  try  how  benevolence  worked,  or  to 
run  away  from  her  feeling  of  awkwardness,  she  got  up  and  moved 
a  few  steps  towards  the  place  where  the  little  blackey  sat. 

"  Have  you  had  dinner  enough  ?  "  she  said,  standing  and  look- 
ing down  upon  her  as  a  very  disagreeable  social  curiosity. 

"  There  aint  no  more,  if  I  hain't,"  said  the  curiosity,  with 
very  dauntless  eyes. 

"  Where  do  you  get  your  dinner  every  day  ?  " 

" '  Long  street,"  said  the  girl,  turning  her  eyes  away  from 
Elizabeth  and  looking  out  into  the  storm. 

"  Do  you  often  go  without  any  ?  " 

"When  the  folks  don't  give  me  none." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.  207 

"  Does  that  happen  often  ?  " 

"  They  didn't  give  me  none  to-day." 

"What  do  you  do  then?" 

The  eyes  came  back  from  the  door  to  Elizabeth,  and  then 
went  to  Winthrop. 

"  What  do  yon  do  then  ?  "  Elizabeth  repeated. 

"  I  gets  'em." 

"Yoa  didn't  get  any  to-day  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  mustn't  any  more." 

"  Nobody  ha'n't  no  business  to  let  me  starve,"  said  the  blackey 
stoutly. 

"  No,  but  I'll  tell  you  where  to  go  the  next  time  you  can't 
get  a  dinner,  and  you  shall  have  it  without  stealing." 

"I  ha'n't  stole  it — nobody  never  see  me  steal — I  omy  tuk 
it," — said  the  girl  with  a  little  lowering  of  her  voice  and  air. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Clam." 

"  Clam  !  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  where  did  you  get  such  an  odd 
name?" 

"  '  Long  street,"  said  the  girl,  her  black  eyes  twinkling, 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  said  Winthrop  gravely. 

"  I  didn't  get  it  nowheres — it  was  guv  to  me." 

"  What's  your  other  name  ?  " 

"  I  ha'n't  got  no  more  names — my  name's  Clam." 

"  What's  your  mother's  name  ?  " 
•  "  She's  Sukey  Beckinson." 

"  Is  she  kind  to  you  ?  "  asked  Elizabeth. 

"J don' know!" 

"  Did  you  have  dinner  enough  ? "  said  Winthrop  with  a 
smile. 

Clam  jumped  up,  and  crossing  her  hands  on  her  breast 
dropped  a  brisk  little  courtsey  to  her  benefactor.  She  made  no 
other  answer,  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  go  home  with  your  empty  basket  when 
the  storm's  over  ?  "  said  he  kindly. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  but  it  was  with  a  singular  expression  of 
cold  and  careless  necessity. 

i:  The  rest  of  the  basketful  wouldn't  be  worth  more  than 
that,  would  it  ?  "  said  he  giving  her  a  sixpence. 

Clam  took  it  and  clasped  it  very  tight  in  her  fist,  for  other 
place  of  security  she  had  none ;  and  looked  at  him,  but  made  no 
more  answer  than  that. 


208  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMtJC. 

"  You  won't  forget  where  to  come  the  next  time  you  can't  get 
an  honest  dinner,"  said  he.  "  The  corner  of  Beaver  and  Little 
South  Streets.  You  know  where  it  is  ?  That  is  where  I  live. 
Ask  for  Mr.  Landholm." 

Clam  nodded  and  said,  "  I  know !  " 

"  I  hope  you'll  get  some  supper  to-night,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  !  "  said  Clam  determinately. 

"  How  will  you  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I'll  make  mammy  give  me  some,"  said  the  girl  flourishing 
her  clasped  fist. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  leave  picking  things  out  of  the  street, 
and  go  to  live  with  somebody  who  would  take  care  of  you  and 
teach  you  to  be  a  good  girl  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

Clam  tossed  her  sixpence  up  and  down  in  her  hand,  and 
finally  brought  her  eyes  to  bear  upon  Elizabeth  and  said, 

"  I  don't  want  nobody  to  take  care  of  me." 

"  If  she  could  be  taught,  and  would,  I'd  take  care  of  her 
afterwards,"  said  Elizabeth  to  Winthrop. 

"  If  he'd  say  so,  I  would,"  said  Clam. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Would  you  like  to  come  into 
some  kind  house — if  I  can  find  you  one — and  learn  to  do  clean 
work  ?  " 

"  It  don't  make  no  odds,"  said  Clam  looking  at  her  basket. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  guess  no  one  don't  want  me." 

"  Perhaps  not;  but  if  somebody  would  have  you,  would  you 
be  a  good  girl  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  I'd  get  dinner  reglar,"  said  the  little  black  girl, 
still  fingering  the  edge  of  her  basket. 

"  Certainly  ! — and  something  better  than  figs." 

"  Be  them  figs  ?  "  said  Clam,  suddenly  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Yes — the  sweet  ones." 

"  Goody  ! — I  didn't  know  that  before." 

"  Well — you  haven't  answered  me  yet." 

"  I  don't  care  much," — said  Clam.     "  Is  it  your  house  ?  " 

"  Maybe." 

" 111  come  !  "  said  she  clapping  her  hands.  "I'll  clear  out, 
and  mother  won't  never  give  it  to  me  no  more. — Nor  nobody  else 
sha'n't  ?  "  said  she  looking  up  at  Winthrop. 

"  If  you  behave  yourself." 

"  I'll  go  now  right  off ! "  said  Clam,  jumping  up  in  great 
epirits.  Then  with  a  changing  and  doubtful  tone  she  added, 
looking  to  Winthrop,  "  Will  you  take  me?" 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEHTTC.  209 

"  Yes,"  he  said  smiling,  "  but  not  this  evening.  You  must 
go  home  now,  when  the  storm  is  over,  for  to-night ;  and  I'll  come 
and  see  your  mother  about  it." 

"  What  for  ?  "  was  the  very  earnest  and  prompt  answer. 

"  If  you  agree  to  come,  I  must  get  her  to  bind  you  out." 

"  I  aint  goin'  to  be  bound,"  said  Clam  shaking  her  head ; — 
'  if  you  bind  me,  I'll  run." 

"  Run  as  fast  as  you  please,"  said  Winthrop  ; — "  run  when- 
ever you  want  to ; — but  I  can't  take  you  unless  you  be  bound,  for 
I  won't  have  your  mother  coming  after  you." 

"  Can't  she  do  nothin'  to  me  if  I'm  bound  ?  "  said  Clam. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  till  you  grow  up  to  be  a  woman ;  and  then 
you  can  take  care  of  yourself." 

"  I'll  take  care  of  myself  all  along,"  said  Clam.  "  Nobody 
else  aint  a  goin'  to." 

"  But  somebody  must  give  you  clothes  to  wear,  and  a  bed  to 
sleep  in,  and  your  dinner,  you  know  ;  and  you  must  do  work  for 
somebody,  to  pay  for  it." 

"  To  pay  for  my  dinner  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  good  !  "  said  Clam.  "  I  guess  I'll  stand  it.  Will  it  be 
for  you  ?  "  • 

"No,  I  think  not." 

"  Won't  you  ?  "  said  Clam  wishingly.    "  I'll  do  work  for  you." 

"  Thank  you.     Maybe  you  shall." 
•  u  I'm  goin'  home  now,"  said  Clam,  getting  up  and  shoulder- 
ing her  basket. 

"  The  storm's  too  bad  yet,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Crackey !  what  do  you  think  I  care  for  that !  The  rain 
won't  wet  me  much." 

u  Come  to  my  house  to-morrow,  if  you  want  to  see  me  again," 
said  Winthrop, — "  about  dinner-time." 

Clam  nodded,  and  fixing  her  bright  eyes  very  intently  first  on 
one  and  then  on  the  other  of  the  friends  she  was  leaving,  she 
ended  with  a  long  parting  look  at  Winthrop  which  lasted  till  she 
had  passed  from  sight  out  of  the  door  of  the  shed. 

The  violence  of  the  storm  was  gone  over;  but  though  the 
thunder  sounded  now  in  the  distance  and  the  lightning  played 
fainter,  the  rain  fell  yet  all  around  them,  in  a  gentle  and  very 
full  shower. 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  has  six  miles  to  go  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  you  answered  as  if  you  believed  her  when  she 
said  so." 


210  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"It  isn't  best  to  tell  all  one's  thoughts,"  said  Winthrop 
smiling. 

Elizabeth  went  back  to  her  box  seat. 

"  I  wish  the  rain  would  let  us  go  home  too,"  she  said. 

"  Your  wishes  are  so  accustomed  to  smooth  travelling,  they 
don't  know  what  to  make  of  a  hindrance,"  said  her  companion. 

Elizabeth  knew  it  was  true,  and  it  vexed  her.  It  seemed  to 
imply  that  she  had  not  been  tried  by  life,  and  that  nobody  knew 
what  she  would  be  till  she  was  tried.  That  was  a  very  disagree- 
able thought.  There  again  he  had  the  advantage  cf  her.  No- 
thing is  reliable  that  is  not  tried.  "  And  yet,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  I  am  reliable.     I  know  I  am." 

"  What  can  anybody's  wish  make  of  a  hindrance  ?  "  was  her 
reply. 

"  Graff  it  in  well,  and  anybody  can  make  a  pretty  large 
thorn  of  it." 

"  Why  Mr.  Winthrop ! — but  I  mean,  in  the  way  of  dealing 
with  it  pleasantly  ?  " 

"  Pleasantly  ? — I  don't  know,"  said  he  ;  "  unless  they  could 
get  my  mother's  recipe." 

"  What  does  her  wish  do  with  a  hindrance  ?  " 

cIt  lies  down  and  dies,"  he  said,  with  a  change  of. tone  which 
shewed  whither  his  thoughts  had  gone. 

"  I  think  I  never  wish  mine  to  do  that,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  What  then  ?  Remember  you  are  speaking  of  hindrances 
absolute — that  cannot  be  removed." 

"  But  Mr.  Winthrop,  do  you  think  it  is  possible  for  one's 
wish  to  lie  down  and  die  so  I " 

"  If  I  had  not  seen  it,  I  might  say  that  it  was  not." 

"  I  don't  understand  it — I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it," 
said  Elizabeth.  "  I  don't  think  it  is  possible  for  mine." 

Winthrop's  thoughts  went  back  a  moment  to  the  sweet  calm 
brow,  the  rested  face,  that  told  of  its  truth  and  possibility  in  one 
instance.  He  too  did  not  understand  it,  but  he  guessed  where 
the  secret  might  lie. 

"It  must  be  a  very  happy  faculty,"  said  Elizabeth; — "  but  it 
seems  to  me — of  course  it  is  not  so  in  that  instance, — but  in  the 
abstract,  it  seems  to  me  rather  tame ; — I  don't  like  it.  I  have  no 
idea  of  giving  up  ! " 

"  There  is  no  need  of  your  giving  up,  in  this  case,"  said  TV  in- 
throp.     "  Do  you  see  that  sunshine  ?  " 

"  And  the  rainbow !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

She  sprang  to  the  door ;  and  they  both  stood  looking,  while 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUO.  211 

the  parting  gifts  of  the  clouds  were  gently  reaching  the  ground, 
and  the  sun  taking  a  cleared  place  in  the  western  heaven,  painted 
over  against  them,  broad  and  bright,  the  promissory  token  that 
the  earth  should  be  overwhelmed  with  the  waters  no  more.  The 
rain-drops  glittered  as  they  fell ;  the  grass  looked  up  in  refreshed 
green  where  the  sun  touched  it ;  the  clouds  were  driving  over 
from  the  west,  leaving  broken  fragments  behind  them  upon  the 
blue;  and  the  bright  and  sweet  colours  of  the  rainbow  swept 
their  circle  in  the  east  and  almost  finished  it  in  the  grass  at  the 
door  of  the  blacksmith's  shop.  It  was  a  lovely  show  of  beauty 
that  is  as  fresh  the  hundredth  ime  as  the  first.  But  though 
Elizabeth  looked  at  it  and  admired  it,  she  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else. 

"  You  have  no  overshoes,"  said  Winthrop,  when  they  had  set 
out  on  their  way ; — "  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  countrywoman 
enough  to  bear  this." 

"  0  yes  I  am,"  said  Elizabeth, — M I  don't  mind  it — I  don't 
care  for  it.     But  Mr.  Winthrop — " 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  ?  "  he  asked,  when  he  had 
waited  half  a  minute  to  find  out. 

"You  understood  that  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  of  your 
mother,  when  I  said  that,  about  thinking  it  seemed  tame  to  let 
one's  wishes  die  out  ? — I  excepted  her  entirely  in  my  thought— 
I  was  speaking  quite  in  the  abstract." 

"  I  know  that,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

She  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  smile  with  which  he  said  it. 

"  How  much  better  that  odd  little  black  child  liked  you  than 
she  did  me,"  she  went  on  with  a  change  of  subject  and  tone 
together. 

"  You  were  a  little  further  off,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Further  off  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  suppose  she  thought  so." 

"  Then  one  must  come  near  people  in  order  to  do  them 
good?" 

"  One  mustn't  be  too  far  off,"  said  Winthrop,  "  to  have  one's 
words  reach  them." 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  to  be  far  off,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  near." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him,  but  he  was  grave ;  and  then  she 
smiled,  and  then  laughed. 

"  You've  hit  it !  "  she  exclaimed.     "  I  shall  remember  that." 

"Take  care,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  said  Winthrop,   as  her  foot 


212  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

slipped  in  the  muddy  way, — "  or  you  will  have  more  to  remem- 
ber than  would  be  convenient.     You  had  better  take  my  arm." 

So  she  did ;  musing  a  little  curiously  at  herself  and  that  arm, 
which  she  had  seen  in  a  shirt-sleeve,  carrying  a  pickaxe  on 
shoulder;  and  making  up  her  mind  in  spite  of  it  all  that  she 
didn't  care  !  So  the  walk  home  was  not  otherwise  than  comfort- 
able. Indeed  the  beauty  of  it  was  more  than  once  remarked  on 
by  both  parties. 

"  Well ! "  said  Rose,  when  at  last  Elizabeth  came  into  the 
room  where  she  was  sitting, — u  have  you  got  home  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  "What  have  you  been  doing  all  this  while  ?  " 

"  Getting  very  angry  at  you  in  the  first  place ;  and  then 
cooling  down  as  usual  into  the  reflection  that  it  was  not  worth 
while." 

"  Well,  I  hope  Winthrop  made  good  use  of  his  opportunity?' 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  said  Elizabeth  coolly,  taking  off  her  things. 

"  And  you  have  engaged  him  at  last  as  your  admirer  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ; — I  have  only  engaged  a  little  black  girl  to  be 
my  servant." 

"  A  servant !  What  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'what'?"  said  Elizabeth  con- 
temptuously. 

"  I  mean,  what  sort  of  a  servant  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know — a  black  servant." 

"But  what  for?" 

"  To  do  my  bidding." 

"  But  what  is  she  ?  and  where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  " 

"  She  is  an  odd  little  fish  called  Clam  ;  and  I  didn't  pick  her 
up  at  all ; — Mr.  Landholm  did  that." 

"  0  ho  !  "  said  Rose, — "it's  a  joint  concern  ! — that's  it.  But 
I  think  you  are  beginning  to  make  up  your  household  very 
early." 

Elizabeth  flung  down  her  shoe  and  lifted  her  head,  and  Miss 
Cadwallader  shrunk ;  even  before  her  companion  said  with  im- 
perious emphasis,  "  Rose,  how  dare  you ! ! — " 

Rose  did  not  dare,  against  the  flushed  face  and  eye  of  fire 
which  confronted  her.  She  fell  back  into  her  chair  and  her  book 
and  was  dumb. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

Ford.  They  do  say,  if  money  go  before,  all  ways  do  1.  e  c;  en. 
Fal.  Money  is  a  good. soldier,  sir,  and  will  on. 

Merry  Wives  C  f  Windsor. 

Somewhat  to  Winthrop's  surprise,  Clam  came  the  next  day 
to  remind  him  of  his  promise ;  very  much  in  earnest  to  wear  a 
clean  frock  and  have  her  dinner  regular.  She  was  duly  bound, 
and  entered  into  clean  service  accordingly.  The  indentures  were 
made  out  to  Miss  Have;  but  for  the  present  Clam  was  put  to 
learn  her  business  under  somebody  that  knew  it ;  and  for  that 
end  was  finally  sent  to  Mrs.  Landholm.  A  week  or  two  with 
Mrs.  Nettley  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties  that  nei- 
ther would  much  advantage  the  other.  At  Shahweetah,  Clam, 
as  Mrs.  Landholm  expressed  it,  "  took  a  new  start,"  and  got  on 
admirably.  What  much  favoured  this,  was  the  fact  that  she  speed- 
ily became  very  much  attached  to  the  whole  family ;  with  the 
single  exception  of  Karen,  between  whom  and  herself  there  was 
an  unallayed  state  of  friction;  a  friction  that  probably  served 
only  to  better  Clam's  relish  of  her  dinner,  while  poor  Karen  de- 
clared "  she  didn't  leave  her  no  rest  day  nor  night." 
"  She's  B.ot  a  bad  child,  Karen,"  said  her  mistress. 
"  Which  part  of  her's  good ?  "  said  Karen.  "  'Taint  her  eyes, 
nor  her  fingers ;  and  if  the  Bible  didn't  say  there  wa'n't  no  such 
a  fountain,  I  should  think  her  tongue  was  one  o'  them  fountains 
that  sent  out  at  the  same  place  both  salt  water  and  fresh." 
"  Her  fingers  are  pretty  good,  Karen." 
"  There's  a  two-sided  will  in  'em,  Mrs.  Landholm." 
There  was  no  two-sided  will  in  Clam's  first  friend,  nor  in 
the  energies  which  were  steadily  bearing  him  on  towards  his  aim. 
Steadily  and  surely,  as  he  knew.  But  his  life  in  those  days  had 
almost  as  little  to  tell  of,  as  it  had  much  to  do.     From  early 


214:  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTTC. 

morning  till almost  till  early  morning  again,  or  till  a  new  day 

had  begun  to  count  the  hours,— every  minute  had  its  work ;  yet 
the  record  of  the  whole  could  be  given  in  very  few  words,  and 
those  would  not  be  interesting.  How  should  the  record  be,  when 
the  reality  was  not,  even  to  himself.  It  was  all  preparatory 
work ;  it  must  be  done ;  but  the  interest  of  the  matter  lay  be- 
yond, at  that  point  whither  all  these  efforts  tended.  Meanwhile 
work  and  haare  patience,  and  work, — was  the  epitome  of  his  life. 

There  were  some  breaks,  but  not  many.  Now  and  then  a 
swift  and  sweet  run  home,  to  live  for  a  moment  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  preparing  to  live;  to  rest  among  the  home  hearts;  to 
breathe  a  few  breaths  in  absolute  freedom ;  to  exchange  Mr.  De 
Wort's  dusty  office  for  the  bright  little  keeping-room  of  the  farm- 
house ,  and  forget  the  business  of  the  hard  brick  and  stone  city 
under  the  shadow  or  the  sunshine  that  rested  on  Wut-a-qut-o. 
Then  Winthrop  threw  off  his  broadcloth  coat  and  was  a  farmer 
again.  Then  Mrs.  Landholm's  brow  laid  down  its  care,  and 
shewed  to  her  son  only  her  happy  face.  Then  poor  Winifred 
was  strong  and  well  and  joyous,  in  the  spite  of  sickness  and  weak- 
ness and  nervous  ail.  And  then  also,  Clam  sprang  round  with 
great  energy,  and  was  as  Karen  averred,  "  fifty  times  worse  and 
better  than  ever." 

But  all  faded  and  died  away,  save  the  sweet  memory  and  re- 
freshment ;  that  staid  yet  a  little  while.  Winthrop  went  back  to 
his  musty  parchments  and  lonely  attic ;  and  the  little  family  at 
home  gathered  itself  together  for  a  new  season  of  duty-doing,  and 
hope,  and  looking  forward.  The  sunshine  and  the  shadow  slept 
upon  Wut-a-qut-o,  as  it  did  a  little  while  ago ;  but  neither  sun- 
shine nor  shadow  was  the  same  thing  now,  for  Winthrop  was 
away. 

He  had  lost  perhaps  less  than  they ;  though  the  balance  was 
struck  pretty  fair.  But  he  was  actively  bending  every  energy  to 
the  accomplishment  of  a  great  object,  The  intensity  of  effort 
might  swallow  up  some  other  things,  and  the  consciousness  of  sure 
and  growing  success  might  make  amends  for  them.  Besides,  he 
had  been  long  fighting  the  battle  of  life  away  from  home,  and 
was  accustomed  to  it;  they  never  got  accustomed  to  it.  Every 
fresh  coming  home  was  the  pledge  of  a  fresh  parting,  the  pleasure 
of  the  one  not  more  sure  than  the  pain  of  the  other.  If  Win- 
throp had  changed,  in  all  these  years  and  goings  and  comings,  it 
might  have  been  different ;  if  they  could  have  found  that  their 
lost  treasure  was  less  true  or  strong  or  fair,  than  when  they  first 
let  it  go.     But  he  was  so  exactly  the  same  Winthrop  that  they 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  215 

had  been  sorry  for  that  first  time,  that  they  could  only  be  sorry 
again  with  the  same  sorrow ; — the  same,  but  for  the  lost  novelty 
of  that  first  time,  and  the  added  habit  of  patience,  and  the  nearer 
hope  of  his  and  their  reward. 

So  through  the  first  winter  and  the  first  summer,  and  the 
second  winter  and  the  second  summer,  of  his  city  apprenticeship, 
Winthrop  wrought  on ;  now  with  a  cold  room  and  little  fire  in 
his  chimney,  and  now  with  the  sun  beating  upon  the  roof,  and 
the  only  hope  of  night's  sea-breeze.  But  the  farmer's  boy  had 
known  cold  and  heat  a  great  while  ago,  and  he  could  bear  both. 
He  could  partly  forget  both,  sometimes  in  literary  unbending 
with  Mr.  Herder  and  his  friends ;  and  at  other  times  in  a  soli- 
tary walk  on  the  Green  overlooking  the  bay,  to  catch  the  sea- 
breeze  more  fresh  and  soon,  and  look  up  the  river  channel  to- 
wards where  the  shadows  lay  upon  Wut-a-qut-o.  And  sometimes 
in  a  visit  at  Mr.  Haye's. 

Of  late,  in  the  second  summer,  this  last  sort  of  pleasure- 
taking  grew  to  be  more  frequent.  Mr.  Herder  was  less  visited, 
and  Mr.  Haye  more.  Winthrop  was  always  welcome,  but  there 
was  no  change  in  the  manner  of  his  being  received.  Unless  per- 
haps a  little  more  graciousness  on  Elizabeth's  part,  and  a  trifle 
less  on  Rose's,  might  be  quoted. 

So  the  sea-breezes  blew  through  the  dog-days;  and  September 
ushered  in  and  ushered  out  its  storms ;  and  October  came,  clear 
and  fair,  with  strength  and  health  for  body  and  mind.  With 
October  came  Rufus,  having  just  made  an  end  of  his  work  in  the 
North  country.  He  came  but  for  a  few  days'  stay  in  passing 
from  one  scene  of  labours  to  another.  For  those  few  days  he 
abode  with  his  brother,  sharing  his  room  and  bed. 

"  Well,  Winthrop,  I've  stuck  to  my  choice,"  he  remarked, 
the  second  evening  of  his  being  there.  The  tone  indicated  the 
opening  of  a  great  budget  of  thoughts.  Winthrop  was  bending 
over  a  parchment- coloured  volume,  and  Rufus  pacing  up  and 
down  the  longest  stretch  of  the  little  room. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Winthrop,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  gain  much  by  it,  and  I  certainly  lose." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  gain  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  money, — and  I  don't  get  that." 

"It's  safe,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  and  so  are  winter's  snows,  in  their  treasury;-'-  and  I 
could  as  soon  get  it  by  asking  for  it." 


216  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJO. 

"  Let  us  hope  it  will  come  with  the  snows,"  said  Winthrop, 
his  head  still  bent  down  over  his  book. 

"  You  may  talk ; — it  is  easy  waiting  for  you." 

"  Query,  how  that  would  give  me  a  right  to  talk,"  said  Win- 
throp turning  over  a  leaf; — "  supposing  it  to  be  a  fact ;  of  which 
I  have  some  doubts." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  to-day  ?  " 

"  The  usual  routine — which  after  all  is  but  preparing  to  do." 

"  What  has  been  the  routine  to-day  ?  " 

"  You  saw  my  breakfast  and  saw  me  get  it. — Then  I  went 
out. — Then  I  read,  according  to  custom." 

"What?" 

"  Classics." 

"  Do  you  !  " 

"  For  awhile.  The  rest  of  the  morning  between  engrossing 
deeds  and  the  Record  Office.  First  half  of  the  afternoon,  or 
rather  a  larger  proportion,  ditto;  the  rest  to  meet  my  friends 
Messrs.  Jones  and  Satterthwaite." 

"  Satterthwaite  Ii — what  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  To  read  Greek  with  me." 

"  Greek  !  What  has  put  that  into  his  head  ?  Bob.  Satter- 
thwaite !  " — andRufus  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  in  a  great 
state  of  amusement.  "  What  has  put  that  into  his  head  ? — eh, 
Winthrop  ?  " 

"  I  don't  inquire.     It  puts  money  in  my  pocket." 

"  Not  much,"  said  Rufus. 

"  No,  not  much." 

"  What's  the  reason,  do  you  think  ?  What  moves  him  to 
woo  the  Muses  ? — I'm  afraid  it's  because  he  thinks  it  is  a  prelim- 
inary wooing  he  must  go  through  before  he  can  be  successful  in 
another  quarter." 

And  again  Rufus  laughed,  in  high  delight. 

"  I  have  no  business  with  that,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?  " 

u  Studying  law." 

"  Stop." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  talk  to  me." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  have  been  doing  that  for  some  time,"  said 
Winthrop,  without  looking  off  his  book. 

"  But  I  haven't  begun.  Winthrop., — I  have  a  great  mind  to 
give  up  this  engineering  business." 

"  To  do  what  instead  ?  " 


TIIE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  217 

"  Why — you  know  I  shall  have  some  money  coming  to  me — 
quite  a  little  sum; — Mr.  Haye  has  very  kindly  offered  to  put 
me  in  the  way  of  laying  it  out  to  good  advantage,  and  eventually 
of  getting  into  another  line  of  occupation  which  would  at  the  same 
time  be  more  lucrative,  less  laborious,  and  would  keep  me  in  the 
regions  of  civilization. — And  perhaps — Winthrop — something 

might  follow  thereupon, " 

"  What  ?  "  said  his  brother  looking  up. 

"  Something " 

"  More  definite  in  your  purpose  than  in'  your  speech." 
"  Not  my  purpose,  exactly,"  said  Rufus,< — "  but  in  possibility." 
"  There  is  no  peg  in  possibility  for  a  wise  man  to  hang  his 
cap  on." 

"  Perha,ps  I  am  not  a  wise  man,"  said  Rufus,  with  a  very 
queer  face,  as  if  his  mind  were  giving  an  askance  look  at  the 
subject. 

"  That's  a  supposititious  case  I  shall  leave  you  to  deal  with." 
"  Why  it's  the  very  sort  of  case  it's  your  business  to  deal 
with,"  said  Rufus.  "  If  the  world  was  full  of  wise  men  you'd 
stand  a  pretty  fair  chance  of  starving,  Governor.  But  seriously, 
— do  you  think  it  is  unbecoming  a  wise  man  to  take  any  lawful 
means  of  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  that  same  devil  of  starvation  ?  " 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  in  any  danger  of  it  ?  "  said 
Winthrop  looking  up  again. 

"  Why  no, — not  exactly ;    taking  the  words  literally.      But 
one  may  starve  and  yet  have  enough  to  eat." 
"  If  one  refuses  one's  food." 

"  If  one  don't  I  I  tell  you,  I  have  been  starving  for  these  two 
years  past.  It  is  not  living,  to  make  to-day  only  feed  to-morrow. 
Besides — I  don't  see  any  harm  in  purchasing,  if  one  can,  an  ex- 
emption from  the  universal  doom  of  eating  one's  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  one's  brow." 

"  I  think  it  depends  entirely  on  what  one  pays  for  the  pur- 
chase," said  Winthrop. 

"  Suppose  one  pays  nothing." 

"  One  executes  a  most  unaccountable  business  transaction." 
Rufus  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  and  then  took  up  his  walk, 
and  half  laughing  went  on. 

"  Suppose  we  leave  talking  in  the  dark,  and  understand  one 
another.     Do  you  know  what  I  am  driving  at  ?  " 

"Have  you  set  off?"  said  Winthrop,  with  again  a  glance 
which  seemed  to  add  to  Rufus's  amusement. 

"  No,"  he  said,—"  I  am  just  waiting  for  you  to  give  me  leave." 

10  I      * 


218  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  The  reins  are  not  in  my  hands." 

"  Yes  they  are.  Seriously,  Winthrop,  do  you  know  what  we 
are  talking  about  ? — What  do  you  think  of  my  making  suit  to 
one  of  these  ladies  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  about  it." 

"  You  do  not  conceive  it  would  be  any  disfavour  to  either  of 
them  to  induce  her  to  accept  me,  I  suppose. — What  do  you  say?" 

"  You  are  indifferent  towards  which  of  them  the  suit  should 
incline  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Why,  that's  as  it  may  be — I  haven't  thought  enough  about 
it  to  know.     They're  a  pretty  fair  pair  to  choose  from — " 

"  Supposing  that  you  have  the  choice,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  to  the  contrary  ? — Has  anybody  else 
a  fairer  entrance  than  myself  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  on  sufficiently  near  terms  with  the  family  to  be 
able  to  inform  you." 

"  Do  you  think  of  entering  your  plough,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Not  in  your  field." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  not  in  your  way." 

"Shall  I  be  in  yours?" 

"  No,"  said  his  brother  coolly. 

"  In  whose  way  then  ?  " 

"lam  afraid  in  your  own,  Will." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  other  a  little  fiercely. 

"  If  you  are  so  intent  upon  marrying  money-bags,  you  may 
chance  to  get  a  wife  that  will  not  suit  you." 

"  You  must  explain  yourself !  "  said  Rufus  haughtily.  "  In 
what  respect  would  either  of  these  two  not  suit  me?" 

"  Of  two  so  different,  it  may  safely  be  affirmed  that  if  one 
would  the  other  would  not." 

"  Two  so  different !  "  said  Rufus.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
either  of  them  ?  " 

"  There  is  this  the  matter  with  both — that  you  do  not  know 
them." 

"  I  do  know  them  !  " 

"  From  the  rest  of  the  world ;  but  not  from  each  other." 

"  Why  not  from  each  other  ?  " 

"  Not  enough  for  your  liking  or  your  judgment  to  tell  which 
would  suit  you." 

"  Why  would  not  either  suit  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

u  I  think — if  you  ask  me — that  one  would  not  make  you 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMtJC.  219 

happy,  in  the  long  run ;  and  the  other,  with  your  present  views 
and  aims,  you  could  not  make  happy." 

"  Which  is  which  ?  "  said  Rufus,  laughing  and  drawing  up  a 
chair  opposite  his  brother. 

"  Either  of  them  is  which,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Such  being 
the  case,  I  don't  know  that  it  is  material  to  inquire." 

"  It  is  very  material !  for  I  cannot  be  satisfied  without  the 
answer.     I  am  in  earnest  in  the  whole  matter,  Winthrop." 

"  So  am  I,  very  much  in  earnest." 

"  Which  of  them  should  I  not  make  happy  ?  " — Rufus  went 
on. — "  Rose  ? — She  is  easily  made  happy." 

"  So  easily,  that  you  would  be  much  more  than  enough 
for  it." 

"  Then  it  is  the  other  one  whose  happiness  yon  are  afraid 
for?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  in  much  danger  from  you." 

"  Why  ? — what  then  ?  "  said  Rufus  quickly. 

"  I  doubt  whether  any  one  could  succeed  with  her  whose  first 
object  was  something  else." 

Rufus  drew  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  in  silence,  for  about  a 
minute  and  a  half;  with  a  face  of  thoughtful  and  somewhat  dis- 
agreeable consideration. 

"  And  with  the  other  one  you  think  he  could  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"Succeed? — one  whose  first  object,  as  you  say,  was  some- 
thing else  ?  " 

"  With  the  other  I  think  anybody  could." 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  like  that,"  said  Rufus ; — "  it  is  amiable. 
She  has  more  simplicity.     She  is  a  lovely  creature  !  " 

"  If  you  ask  your  eye." 

"  If  I  ask  yours  !  " — 

"  Every  man  must  see  with  his  own  eyes,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Don't  yours  see  her  lovely?  " 

"  They  might,  if  they  had  not  an  inward  counsellor  that 
taught  them  better." 

"  She  is  very  sweet-tempered  and  sweet-mannered,"  said 
Rufus. 

«  yery.» 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Certainly — when  it  suits  her." 

"  When  it  suits  her !  " 

"  Yes.     She  is  naturally  rude,  and  politically  polite." 

"  And  how's  the  other  one  ?  isn't  she  naturally  rude  too  ?  " 


220  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Not  politically  anything." 

"  And  you  think  she  wouldn't  have  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  would  not,  if  she  knew  your  motive." 

"  My  motive  ! — but  my  motive  might  change,"  said  Rufus, 
pushing  back  his  chair  and  beginning  to  walk  the  floor  again. 
u  It  isn't  necessary  that  my  regards  should  be  confined  to  her 
gracious  adjunctive  recommendations. — " 

He  walked  for  some  time  without  reply,  and  again  the  leaves 
of  Winthrop's  book  said  softly  now  and  then  that  Winthrop's 
head  was  busy  with  them. 

"  Governor,  you  are  very  unsatisfactory  !  "  said  his  brother  at 
length,  standing  now  in  front  of  him. 

Winthrop  looked  up  and  smiled  and  said  *  What  would 
you  have  ?  " 

"  Your  approbation !  " — was  the  strong  and  somewhat  bitter 
thought  in  Rufus 's  mind.     He  paused  before  he  spoke. 

"  But  Governor,  really  I  am  tired  of  this  life —  it  isn't  what  I 
am  fit  for ; — and  why  not  escape  from  it,  if  I  can,  by  some  agree- 
able road  that  will  do  nobody  any  harm  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Winthrop.     «  I'll  help  you." 

"Well?—" 

«  Well—" 

"  You  think  this  is  not  such  a  one  ?  " 

"  The  first  step  in  it  being  a  stumble." 

"  To  whom  would  it  bring  harm,  Governor  ?  " 

"  The  head  must  lower  when  the  foot  stumbles,"  said  Win- 
throp. "  That  is  one  harm." 

"  But  yoi  are  begging  the  question !  "  said  Rufus  a  little 
impatiently. 

"  And  you  have  granted  it." 

"  I  haven't ! "  said  Rufus.  "  I  don't  see  it.  I  don't  see  the 
stumbling  or  the  lowering.  I  should  not  feel  myself  lowered  by 
marrying  a  fine  woman,  and  I  hope  she  would  not  feel  her  own 
self-respect  injured  by  marrying  me." 

"  You  will  not  stand  so  high  upon  her  money-bags  as  upon 
your  own  feet." 

"  Why  not  have  the  advantage  of  both  ?  " 

"You  cannot.  People  always  sit  down  upon  money-bags. 
The  only  exception  is  in  the  case  of  money-bags  they  have  filled 
themselves." 

Rufus  looked  at  Winthrop's  book  for  three  minutes  in  silence. 

"  Well,  why  not  then  take  at  once  the  ease,  for  which  the 
alternative  is  a  long  striving  ?  " 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  221 

"  If  you  can.  But  the  long  striving  is  not  the  whole  of  the 
alternative;  with  that  you  lose  the  fruits  of  the  striving — all 
that  makes  ease  worth  having." 

"  But  I  should  not  relinquish  them,"  said  Rufus.  "  I  shall 
not  sit  down  upon  my  money-bags." 

"  They  are  not  your  money-bags." 

"  They  will  be — if  I  prove  successful." 

"  And  how  will  you  prove  successful  ?  " 

"  Why  !  " — said  Rufus, — "  what  a  question ! — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  answer  it  nevertheless — not  to  me,  but  to 
yourself." 

Whether  Rufus  did  or  not,  the  answer  never  came  out.  He 
paced  the  floor  again ;  several  times  made  ready  to  speak,  and 
then  checked  himself. 

"  So  you  are  entirely  against  me, — "  he  said  at  length. 

"  I  am  not  against  you,  Will ; — I  am  for  you." 

11  You  don't  approve  of  my  plan." 

"  No— I  do  not." 

"  I  wish  you  would  say  why." 

"  I  hardly  need,"  said  Winthrop  with  a  smile.  "  You  have 
said  it  all  to  yourself." 

"  Notwithstanding  which  assumption,  I  should  like  to  hear 
you  say  it." 

"  For  the  greater  ease  of  attack  and  defence  ? 

"  If  you  please.     For  anything." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Will  ?  "  said  Winthrop  look- 
ing up. 

"  To  tell  me  why  I  should  not  marry  Miss  Haye  or  Miss 
Cadwallader." 

"  You  not  knowing,  yourself." 

«  Yes— I  don't,"  said  Rufus. 

Winthrop  turned  over  a  few  leaves  of  his  book  and  then  spoke. 

"  You  are  stronger,  not  to  lean  on  somebody  else's  strength. 
You  are  more  independent,  not  to  lean  at  all.  You  are  honester, 
not  to  gain  anything  under  false  pretences.  And  you  are  better  to 
be  yourself,  Will  Landholm,  than  the  husband  of  any  heiress  the 
sun  shines  upon,  at  such  terms." 

"What  terms?" 

"  False  pretences." 

"  What  false  pretences  ?  " 

"  Asking  the  hand,  when  you  only  want  the  key  that  is  in  it. 
Professing  to  give  yourself,  when  in  truth  your  purpose  is  to  give 
nothing  that  is  not  bought  and  paid  for." 


222  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMIJC. 

Rufus  looked  very  grave  and  somewhat  disturbed. 

"  That's  a  very  hard  characterizing  of  the  matter,  Governor,71 
said  he.     "I  don't  think  I  deserve  it." 

"  I  hope  you  don't,"  said  his  brother. 

Rufus  began  again  to  measure  the  little  apartment  with  his 
long  steps. 

"  But  this  kind  of  thing  is  done  every  day,  Winthrop." 

"  By  whom  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Why ! — by  very  good  men ; — by  everybody." 

"  Not  by  everybody." 

"  By  what  sort  of  people  is  it  not  done  ?  " 

"  By  you  and  me,"  said  Winthrop  smiling. 

u  You  think  then  that  a  poor  man  should  never  marry  a  rich 
woman  ?  " 

"  Never, — unless  he  can  forget  that  she  is  rich  and  he 
poor." 

Rufus  walked  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  between  dry  and  injured, — "  I  am 
going  off  to  -the  West  again,  luckily ;  and  I  shall  have  no  oppor- 
tunity for  the  present  to  disturb  you  by  making  false  pretences, 
of  any  sort." 

"  Is  opportunity  all  that  you  lack  ?  "  said  Winthrop  looking 
up,  and  with  so  simple  an  expression  that  Rufus  quitted  his  walk 
and  his  look  together. 

"  Why  did  you  never  make  trial  for  yourself,  Winthrop  ? " 
he  said.  "  You  have  a  remarkably  fine  chance  ;  and  fine  opening 
too,  I  should  think.  You  are  evidently  very  well  received  down 
yonder." 

"  I  have  a  theory  of  my  own  too,  on  the  subject,"  said  Win- 
throp,— "  somewhat  different  from  yours,  but  still  enough  to 
work  by." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  have  no  mind  to  marry  any  woman  who  is  unwilling  to  be 
obliged  to  me." 

Rufus  looked  at  his  brother  and  at  the  fireplace  awhile  in 
gravity. 

"  You  are  proud,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  I  must  have  come  to  it  by  living  so  high  in  the  world," 
said  Winthrop. 

"  So  high  ?  "—said  Rufus. 

"  As  near  the  sun  as  I  can  get.  I  thought  it  was  very  near, 
some  time  in  August  last." 

Winthrop  laid  by  his  book ;  and  the  two  young  men  stood 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE    SHATEMUC.  223 

several  minutes,  quite  silent,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  hearth,  with 
folded  hands  and  meditative  countenances;  but  the  face  of  the 
one  looked  like  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Shatemuc  tossed  and 
tumbled  under  a  fierce  wind ;  the  other's  was  calm  and  steady  as 
Wut-a-qut-o's  brow. 

"  So  you  won't  have  any  woman  that  you  don't  oblige  to 
marry  you  !  "  Rufus  burst  out.     "  Ha,  ha,  ha ! — ho,  ho,  ho  ! — " 

Winthrop's  mouth  gave  the  slightest  good-humoured  token 
of  understanding  him, — it  could  not  be  called  a  smile.  Rufus 
had  his  laugh  out,  and  cooled  down  into  deeper  gravity  than 
before. 

"  Well !  "—said  he,—"  I'll  go  off  to  my  fate,  at  the  limitless 
wild  of  the  West.     It  seems  a  rough  sort  of  fate." 

"  Make  your  fate  for  yourself,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  You  will,"  said  his  brother.  "  And  it  will  be  what  you  will, 
and  that's  a  fair  one.  And  you  will  oblige  anybody  you  have  a 
mind  to.     And  marry  an  heiress." 

"  Don't  look  much  like  it — things  at  present,"  said  Winthrop. 
"  I  don't  see  the  way  very  clear." 

"  As  for  me,  I  don't  know  what  ever  I  shall  come  to,"  Rufus 
added. 

"  Come  to  bed  at  present,"  said  Winthrop.  "  That  is  one 
step." 

"  One  step  towards  what  ?  " 

"  Sleep  in  the  first  place ;  and  after  that,  anything." 

"  What  a  strange  creature  you  are,  Governor  1  and  how 
doubtlessly  and  dauntlessly  you  pursue  your  way,"  Rufus  said 
.sighing. 

"  Sighs  never  filled  anybody's  sails  yet,"  said  Winthrop. 
M  They  are  the  very  airs  of  a  calm." 

"  Calm  !  "  said  Rufus. 

"  A  dead  calm,"  said  his  brother  laughing. 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  calm,"  said  Rufus.  And  with  that  tho 
evening  ended. 


CHAPTER    XXI 


O  what  men  dare  do!  what  men  may  do!  what  men  daily  do!  not  knowing  what  they 
do! 

Mtrcn  ado  about  Nothing. 

One  morning,  about  these  days,  Mr.  and  Miss  Haye  were 
seated  at  the  opposite  ends  of  the  breakfast-table.  They  had 
been  there  for  some  time,  silently  buttering  rolls  and  sipping  cof- 
fee, in  a  leisurely  way  on  Mr.  Haye's  part,  and  an  ungratified  one 
on  the  part  of  his  daughter.  He  was  considering,  also  in  a  leisurely 
sort  of  way,  the  columns  of  the  morning  paper ;  she  considering 
him  and  the  paper,  and  at  intervals  knocking  with  her  knife 
against  the  edge  of  her  plate, — a  meditative  and  discontented 
knife,  and  an  impassive  and  unimpressed  plate.  So  breakfast 
went  on  till  Elizabeth's  cup  was  nearly  emptied. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  it  is  very  unsociable  and  stupid  for  you 
to  read  the  paper,  and  me  to  eat  my  breakfast  alone.     You  might* 
read  aloud,  if  you  must  read." 

Mr.  Haye  brought  his  head  round  from  the  paper  long  enough 
to  swallow  half  a  cupful  of  coffee. 

"  Where's  Rose  ?  " 

"  In  bed,  for  aught  I  know.  There  is  no  moving  her  till  she 
has  a  mind." 

"  'Seems  to  me,  it  is  quite  as  difficult  to  move  you,"  said  her 
father. 

"  Ay,  but  then  I  have  a  mind — which  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence." 

Mr.  Haye  went  back  to  his  paper  and  considered  it  till  the 
rest  of  his  cup  of  coffee  was  thoroughly  cold.  Elizabeth  finished 
her  breakfast,  and  sat,  drawn  back  into  herself,  with  arms  folded, 
looking  into  the  fireplace.  Finding  his  coffee  cold,  Mr.  Haye'a 
attention  came  at  length  back  upon  his  daughter. 


THE  HILLS   OF   THE   6HATEMU0.  225 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  talk  about  ?  "  lie  said. 

"  It  don't  signify,  your  talking  about  anything  now,"  said 
Elizabeth.  "  Everything  is  cold — mind  and  matter  together.  I 
don't  know  how  you'll  find  the  coffee,  father." 

Mr.  Haye  stirred  it,  with  a  discontented  look. 

"  Rose  is  late,"  he  remarked  again.  * 

"  That's  nothing  new,"  said  Elizabeth.     "  Late  is  her  time." 

Mr.  Haye  drunk  his  cold  cupful. 

"  You're  very  fond  of  her,  Lizzie,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth.    "  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  Not  fond  of  her ! "  said  Mr.  Haye  in  a  very  surprised  tone. 

«  No,"  said  Elizabeth,—"  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  I  thought  you  were,"  said  her  father,  in  a  voice  tnat  spoke 
both  chagrin  and  displeasure. 

"  What  made  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  You  always  seemed  fond  of  her,"  said  Mr,  Haye. 

"  I  can't  have  seemed  so,  for  I  never  was  so.  There  isn't 
enough  of  her  to  be  fond  of.  I  talk  to  her,  and  like  her  after  a 
fashion,  because  she  is  the  only  person  near  me  that  I  can  talk  to 
—that's  all." 

"  I  am  fond  of  her,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"It  takes  more  to  make  me  fond  of  anybody,"  said  his 
daughter.     "  I  know  you  are." 

"  What  does  Rose  want,  to  have  the  honour  of  your  good 
opinion  ?  " 

"  0  don't  talk  in  that  tone !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  had  rather 
you  would  not  talk  at  all  You  have  chosen  an  unhappy  subject. 
It  takes  a  good  deal  to  make  me  like  anybody  much,  father." 

"  What  does  Rose  want  ?  " 

"  As  near  as  possible,  everything,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  if  you 
will  have  the  answer." 

"What?" 

"  Why  father,  she  has  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  very  pretty 
face." 

"  You  grant  her  that,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  Yes,  I  grant  her  that,  though  it  is  a  great  while  since  I  saw 
it  pretty.  Father,  I  care  nothing  at  all  for  any  face  which  has 
nothing  beneath  the  outside.  It's  a  barren  prospect  to  me,  how- 
ever fair  the  outside  may  be — I  don't  care  to  let  my  eye  dwell 
on  it." 

"  How  do  you  like  the  prospect  of  your  own,  in  the  glass  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  I  didn't  think  it  had  infinitely 

10* 


226  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC. 

more  in  it  than  the  face  we  have  been  speaking  of.     It  is  not  bo 
beautifully  tinted,  nor  so  regularly  cut ;  but  I  like  it  better." 

"  I  am  afraid  few  people  will  agree  with  you,"  said  her  father 
dryly. 

"  There's  one  thing,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  I  sha'n't  know  it  if 
they  don't.  But  then  I  see  my  face  at  a  disadvantage,  looking 
stupidly  at  itself  in  the  glass — I  hope  it  does  better  to  other  peo- 
ple." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  thought  quite  so  much  of  yourself,"  said 
Mr.  Haye. 

"  I  haven't  told  you  the  half,"  said  Elizabeth,  looking  at  him. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  think  more  of  myself  than  anybody  else  does,  or 
ever  will." 

"  If  you  do  it  so  well  for  yourself,  I'm  afraid  other  people 
won't  save  you  the  trouble,"  said  her  father. 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  not,  by  the  tone  in  which  you  speak, 
father." 

"  What  has  set  you  against  Rose  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world !  I  am  not  set  against  her.  Nothing 
in  the  world  but  her  own  emptiness  and  impossibility  of  being 
anything  like  a  companion  to  me." 

"  Elizabeth !— " 

"  Father !— What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  How  dare  you  talk  in  that  manner  ?  " 

"  Why  father,"  said  Elizabeth,  her  tone  somewhat  quieting  as 
his  was  roused, — "  I  never  saw  the  thing  yet  I  didn't  dare  say, 
if  I  thought  it.     Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  not  true — a  word  of  it." 

"  I'm  sure  I  wish  it  wasn't  true,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  What  I 
said  was  true.  It's  a  sorrowful  truth  to  me,  too,  for  I  haven't 
a  soul  to  talk  to  that  can  understand  me — not  even  you,  father,  it 
seems." 

"  I  wish  I  didn't  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  It's  nothing  very  dreadful  to  understand,"  said  Elizabeth, 
— "  what  I  have  been  saying  now.  I  wonder  how  you  can  think 
so  much  of  it.     I  know  you  love  Rose  better  than  I  do." 

"  I  love  her  so  well — "  said  Mr.  Haye,  and  stopped. 

"  So  well  that  what  ?  " 

"  That  I  can  hardly  talk  to  you  with  temper." 

"  Then  don't  let  us  talk  about  it  at  all,"  said  Elizabeth,  whoso 
own  heightened  colour  shewed  that  her  temper  was  moving. 

"  Unhappily  it  is  necessary,"  said  Mr  Haye  dryly. 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  227 

"  Why  in  the  world  is  it  necessary  ?  You  can't  alter  the  mat- 
ter, father,  by  talking ; — it  must  stand  so." 

"Stand  how?" 

"  Why,  as  it  does  stand — Rose  and  I  as  near  as  possible 
nothing  to  each  other." 

"  Things  can  hardly  stand  so,"  said  Mr.  Haye.  "  You  must 
be  either  less  or  more." 

Elizabeth  sat  silent  and  looked  at  him.  He  looked  at  nothing 
but  what  was  on  his  plate. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  Rose  take  your  place  ?  " 

".  My  place  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Haye  laconically. 

"  No  place  that  I  fill,  could  be  filled  by  Rose  "  said  Elizabeth, 
with  the  slightest  perceptible  lifting  of  her  head  and  raising  of 
har  brow. 

"  We  will  try  that,"  said  Mr.  Haye  bitterly ;  "  for  I  will  put 
her  over  your  head,  and  we  will  see." 

"  Put  her  where  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Over  this  house — over  my  establishment — at  this  table — in 
your  place  as  the  head  of  this  family." 

"  You  will  take  her  for  your  daughter,  and  discard  me  ? " 
said  Elizabeth. 

"  No — I  will  not, — "  said  Mr.  Haye,  cutting  a  piece  of  beef- 
steak in  a  way  that  shewed  him  indifferent  to  its  fate.  "  I  will 
not ! — I  will  make  her  my  wife ! — " 

Elizabeth  had  risen  from  the  table  and  now  she  stood  on  the 
rug  before  the  fire,  with  her  arms  behind  her,  looking  down  at  the 
breakfast-table  and  her  father.  Literally,  looking  down  upon 
them.  Her  cheeks  were  very  pale,  but  fires  that  were  not  heaven- 
lit  were  burning  somewhere  within  her,  shining  out  at  her  eye 
and  now  and  then  colouring  her  face  with  a  sudden  flare.  There 
was  a  pause.  Mr.  Haye  tried  what  he  could  do  with  his  beefsteak ; 
and  his  daughter's  countenance  shewed  the  cloud  and  the  flame 
of  the  volcano  by  turns.  For  awhile  the  father  and  daughter 
held  off  from  each  other.  But  Mr.  Haye's  breakfast  gave  symp- 
toms of  coming  to  an  end. 

"  Father,"  said  Elizabeth,  bringing  her  hands  in  front  of  her 
and  clasping  them, — "  say  you  did  not  mean  that !  " 

"  Ha ! — "  said  Mr.  Haye  without  looking  at  her,  and  brushing 
the  crumbs  from  his  pantaloons. 

Elizabeth  waited. 

"  What  did  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  spoke  plain  enough,"  said  he. 


228  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEHUC. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  meant  that  ?  "  said  Elizabeth, 
the  volcanic  fires  leaping  up  bright. 

"Meant  it?"  said  Mr.  Haye,  looking  at  her.  "Yes,  I 
meant  it." 

"  Father,  you  did  not ! — " 

Mr.  Haye  looked  again  at  her  hands  and  her  face,  and  an- 
swered coolly, 

"Ask  Rose  whether  I  meant  it, — " 

And  left  the  room. 

Elizabeth  neither  saw  nor  heard,  for  some  minutes;  they 
might  have  been  many  or  few.  Then  she  became  aware  that  the 
servant  was  asking  her  if  he  should  leave  the  breakfast-table  still 
for  Miss  Cadwallader ;  and  her  answer,  "  No — take  it  away !  " — 
was  given  with  startling  decision.  The  man  had  known  his  young 
mistress  before  to  speak  with  lips  that  were  supreme  in  their  ex- 
pression. He  only  obeyed,  without  even  wondering.  Elizabeth 
in  a  whirl  of  feeling  that  like  the  smoke  of  the  volcano  hid  every- 
thing but  itself,  went  and  stood  in  the  window;  present  to 
nothing  but  herself;  seeing  neither  the  street  without  nor  the 
house  within.  Wrapped  in  that  smoke,  she  did  not  know  when 
the  servant  went  out,  nor  whether  anybody  else  came  in.  She 
stood  there  pale,  with  lips  set,  her  hands  folded  against  her  waist, 
and  pressing  there  with  a  force  the  muscles  never  relaxed.  How 
long  she  did  not  know.  Something  aroused  her,  and  she  dis- 
cerned, through  the  smoke,  another  figure  in  the  room  and  coming 
towards  her.  Elizabeth  stepped  out  from  the  window,  without 
altering  anything  but  her  place,  and  stood  opposite  to  Winthrop 
Landholm.  If  it  had  been  Queen  Elizabeth  of  old  and  one  of 
her  courtiers,  it  would  have  been  all  one ;  the  young  man's  re- 
spectful greeting  could  not  have  been  met  with  more  superb  re- 
gality of  head  and  brow. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  Mr.  Haye,"  said  Winthrop,  "  which  my 
brother  left  in  my  charge.  That  brought  me  here  this  morning, 
and  I  ventured  to  make  business  an  excuse  for  pleasure." 

"  It  may  lie  on  the  table  till  he  comes,"  said  Elizabeth  with 
the  slightest  bend  of  her  stately  little  head.  She  might  have 
meant  the  letter  or  the  pleasure  or  the  business,  or  all  three. 

"  You  are  well,  Miss  Haye  ?  "  said  Winthrop  doubtfully. 

"  No — I  am  well  enough,"  said  Elizabeth.  A  revulsion  of 
feeling  had  very  nearly  brought  down  her  head  in  a  flood  of 
tears ;  but  she  kept  that  back  carefully  and  perfectly ;  and  the 
next  instant  she  started  with  another  change,  for  Hose  came  in. 
She  gave  Winthrop  a  very  smiling  and  bright  salutation ;  which 
he  acknowledged  silently,  gravely,  and  even  distantly. 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  229 

**  Aren't  you  well,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  "  was  Rose's  next  instant 
question,  most  sweetly  given. 

"  Very  well,"  lie  said  with  another  bow. 

"  What  have  you  been  talking  about,  to  get  so  melancholy  ? 
Lizzie — " 

But  Rose  caught  sight  of  the  gathered  blackness  of  that  face, 
and  stopped  short.  Elizabeth  bestowed  one  glance  upon  her ;  and 
as  she  then  turned  to  the  other  person  of  the  party  the  revul- 
sion came  over  her  again,  so  strong  that  it  was  overcoming.  For 
a  minute  her  hands  went  to  her  face,  and  it  was  with  extreme 
difficulty  that  the  rising  heart  was  kept  down.  Will  had  the 
mastery,  however,  and  her  face  looked  up  again  more  dark  than 
ever. 

"  We  have  talked  of  nothing  at  ill,"  she  said.  *  Mr.  Land- 
holm  only  came  to  bring  a  letter." 

Mr.  Landholm  could  not  stay  after  that,  for  anything.  He 
bowed  himself  out ;  and  left  Elizabeth  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  looking  as  if  the  crust  of  the  earth  had  given  wa 
under  her  and  '  chaos  was  come  again.'  She  stood  there  as  she 
had  stood  in  the  window,  still  and  cold ;  and  Rose  afar  off  by  the 
chimney  corner  stood  watching  her,  as  one  would  a  wild  beast  or 
a  venomous  creature  in  the  room,  not  a  little  fear  mingled  with 
a  shadow  of  something  else  in  her  face. 

Elizabeth's  first  movement  was  to  walk  a  few  steps  up  and 
down,  swinging  one  clenched  hand,  but  half  the  breadth  of  the 
room  was  all  she  went.  She  sunk  down  there  beside  a  chair  and 
hid  her  face,  exclaiming  or  rather  groaning  out,  one  after  the 
other, — "Oh! — oh!" — in  such  tones  as  are  dragged  from  very 
far  down  in  the  heart ;  careless  of  Rose's  hearing  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Lizzie  ?  " — her  companion  ventured 
timidly.  But  Elizabeth  gavs  no  answer;  and  neither  of  them 
stirred  for  many  minutes,  an  occasional  uneasy  flutter  of  Rose's 
being  the  exception.  The  question  at  last  was  asked  over  again, 
and  responded  to. 

"  That  my  father  has  disgraced  himself,  and  that  you  are  the 
cause  !  " 

"  There's  no  disgrace,"  said  Rose. 

u  Don't  say  he  has  not ! "  said  Elizabeth,  looking  up  with 
an  eye  that  glared  upon  her  adversary.  "  And  before  he  had 
done  it.  I  wish  you  had  never  been  born, — or  I." 

"  It's  no  harm, — "  said  Rose  confusedly. 

"Harm! — harm, — "  repeated  Elizabeth;  then  putting  her 
face  down  again ;  "Oh  ! — what's  the  use  of  living,  in  such  a 
world ! " 


230  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  I  don't  see  what  harm  it  does  to  you,"  said  Rose,  muttering 
her  words. 

"  Harm  ?  "  repeated  Elizabeth.  "  If  it  was  right  to  wish  it, 
— which  I  believe  it  isn't, — I  could  wish  that  I  was  dead.  It 
almost  seems  to  me  I  wish  I  were ! " 

"  You're  not  sure  about  it,"  said  Rose. 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  said  Elizabeth  looking  up  at  her  again  with 
eyes  of  fire  and  a  face  from  which  pain  and  passion  had  driven 
all  but  livid  colour, — but  looking  at  her  steadily, — "because 
there  is  something  after  death;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am 
ready  for  it.  I  dare  not  say  I  wish  I  was  dead,  Rose  Oadwal- 
lader,  or  you  would  drive  me  to  it !  " 

"  I'm  sure,  I've  done  nothing," — said  Rose  whimpering. 

"  Done  nothing !  "  said  Elizabeth  with  a  concentrated  power 
of  expression.  "  Oh  I  wish  you  had  done  anything,  before  my 
father  had  lowered  himself  in  my  eyes  and  you  had  been  the 
cause ! — " 

"  I'm  not  the  cause  of  anything,"  said  Rose. 

Elizabeth  did  not  answer ;  she  was  crouching  by  the  side  of 
the  chair  in  an  uneasy  position  that  said  how  far  from  ease  the 
spirit  was. 

"  And  he  hasn't  lowered  himself,"  Rose  went  on  pouting. 

"  It  is  done  !  " — said  Elizabeth,  getting  up  from  the  floor  and 
standing,  not  unlike  a  lightning-struck  tree. — "I  wonder  what 
will  become  of  me ! — " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  find  a  way  out  of  this  house,  if  I  knew  how." 

"  That's  easy  enough,"  said  Rose  with  a  slight  sneer.  "  There 
are  plenty  of  ways." 

"  Easy  enough, — if  one  could  find  the  right  one." 

"  Why  you've  had  me  in  the  house  a  great  while,  already," 
said  Rose. 

"  I  have  had —  said  Elizabeth. — u  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever 
have  anything  again !  " 

"  Why  what  have  you  lost  ?  " 

"  Everything — except  myself." 

"  You  have  a  great  respect  for  Mr.  Haye,"  said  Rose. 

"I  had." 

Rose  at  this  point  thought  fit  to  burst  into  a  great  fit  of  tears 
Elizabeth  stood  by  the  table,  taking  up  and  putting  down  one 
book  after  another,  as  if  the  touch  of  them  gave  her  fingers  pain ; 
and  looking  as  if,  as  she  said,  she  had  lost  everything.     Then 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  231 

stood  with  folded  arms  eyeing  something  that  was  not  before  her ; 
and  then  slowly  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"Lizzie — "  said  Rose. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  stopping  at  the  door. 

"  What's  the  use  of  taking  things  so  ?  " 

'*  The  use  of  necessity." 

"  But  we  can  be  just  as  we  were  before." 

Elizabeth  went  on  and  gained  her  own  room;  and  there  she 
and  pain  had  a  fight  that  lasted  the  rest  of  the  day. 

The  fight  was  not  over,  and  weary  traces  of  it  were  upon  her 
face,  when  late  in  the  afternoon  she  went  out  to  try  "the  change 
of  a  walk.  The  walk  made  no  change  whatever.  As  she  was 
coming  up  the  Parade,  she  was  met  by  Winthrop  going  down. 
If  he  had  seen  only  the  gravity  and  reserve  of  the  morning,  it  is 
probable  he  would  not  have  stopped  to  speak  to  her ;  tit  though 
those  were  in  her  face  still,  there  was  beside  a  weary  set  of  the 
brow  and  sorrowful  line  of  the  lips,  very  unwonted  there,  and 
the  cheeks  were  pale ;  and  instead  of  passing  with  a  mere  bow 
he  came  up  and  offered  his  hand.  Elizabeth  took  it,  but  without 
the  least  brightening  of  face. 

"  Are  you  out  for  a  walk  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No — I  am  for  home — I  have  had  a  walk." 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  afternoon,"  said  he,  turning  and  beginning 
to  walk  along  slowly  with  her. 

"Is  it?" 

"  Haven't  you  found  out  that  it  is  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Where  have  you  been,  not  to  know  it  ?  " 

"  Hum — "  said  Elizabeth, — "  if  you  mean  where  my  mind 
has  been,  that  is  one  question ;  as  for  my  bodily  self,  I  have  been 
on  the  Castle  Green." 

"  You  have  lost  your  walk,"  said  he.  "  Don't  you  feel  in- 
clined to  turn  about  with  me  and  try  to  pick  up  what  you  came 
out  for  ?  " 

"Better  there  than  at  home,"  thought  Elizabeth,  and  she 
turned  about  accordingly. 

"  People  come  out  for  a  variety  of  things,"  she  remarked 
however. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Winthrop  smiling.  "  I  am  afraid  I  was 
hasty  in  presuming  I  could  help  you  to  find  your  object.  I  was 
thinking  only  of  mine." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  could,  as  well  as  anybody,"   said 


232  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

Elizabeth.  "  If  you  could  give  me  your  mother's  secret  for  not 
minding  disagreeable  things." 

"lam  afraid  I  cannot  say  she  does  not  mind  them,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  What  then  ? — I  thought  you  said  so." 

"  I  do  not  remember  what  I  said.  I  might  have  said  that 
she  does  not  struggle  with  them — those  at  least  which  cannot  be 
removed  by  struggling." 

"Not  struggle  with  them?"  said  Elizabeth.  "Sit  down 
quietly  with  them ! " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  gravely.     "  Not  at  first,  but  at  last." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  it,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  That  is,  I  don't 
believe  in  it  as  a  general  thing.  It  may  be  possible  for  her.  I 
am  sure  it  never  could  be  for  me." 

Winthrop  was  silent,  and  they  walked  so  for  the  space  of 
half  a  block. 

"  Would  she  say  that  it  is  possible  for  everybody  ?  "  inquired 
Elizabeth  then. 

"  I  believe  she  would  say  that  it  is  not  temperament,  nor  cir- 
cumstance, nor  stoical  philosophy." 

"What  then?" 

"A  drop  of  some  pacifying  oil  out  of  a  heaven-wrought 
chalice." 

"I  don't  think  figures  are  the  easiest  mode  of  getting  at 
things,  Mr.  Landholm.     You  don't  make  this  clear." 

lie  smiled  a  little,  as  he  pushed  open  the  little  wicket  gate 
of  the  Green,  and  without  saying  anything  more  they  sauntered 
in,  along  the  broad  gravel  walk  sweeping  round  the  enclosure ; 
slowly,  till  they  had  passed  the  fortifications  and  stood  looking 
upon  the  bay  over  towards  Blue  Point.  The  sun  was  almost  on 
the  low  ruddied  horizon ;  a  stirring  north  breeze  came  down  from 
the  up  country,  roughening  the  bay,  and  the  sunbeams  leapt 
across  from  the  opposite  western  shore  giving  a  touch  of  light  to 
every  wave.  The  air  was  very  fine;  the  sky  without  a  cloud,  ex- 
cept some  waiting  flecks  of  vapour  around  the  sun.  The  two 
friends  stood  still  some  little  time,  to  look  or  to  think ;  looking 
especially  at  the  fair  glowing  western  heaven,  and  the  tossing 
water  between,  every  roll  of  which  was  with  a  dance  and  a 
sparkle. 

"  Does  this  make  anything  clear  ?  "  asked  Winthrop,  when 
Borne  time  had  gone  by  without  speech  or  movement  from  either 
of  them. 

He  spoke  lightly  enough ;  but  the  answer  was  given  in  a  tone 
that  bespoke  its  truth. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUO.  233 

"  Oh  no !— " 

And  Elizabeth's  face  was  turned  away  so  that  he  could  see 
nothing  but  her  bonnet,  beside  the  tremulous  swell  of  the  throat; 
that  he  did  see. 

"  It  has  very  often  such  an  effect  for  me," —  he  went  on  in  tho 
same  tone.  "  And  I  often  come  here  for  the  very  purpose  of 
trying  it;  when  my  head  gets  thick  over  law-papers." 

"  That  may  do  for  some  things,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  It  won't 
for  others." 

"  This  would  work  well  along  with  my  mother's  recipe  "  he 
said. 

"  What  is  that ?  "  said  Elizabeth  harshly.  "You  didn't  tell 
me." 

"  I  am  hardly  fit  to  tell  you,"  he  answered,  "  for  I  do  not 
thoroughly  know  it  myself.  But  I  know  she  would  send  you  to 
the  Bible, — and  tell  you  of  a  hand  that  she  trusts  to  do  everything 
for  her,  and  that  she  knows  will  do  all  things  well,  and  kindly." 

"  But  does  that  hinder  disagreeables  from  being  disagree- 
ables ?  "  said  Elizabeth  with  some  impatience  of  tone.  "Does 
that  hinder  aches  from  being  pain  ?  " 

"  Hardly.  But  I  believe  it  stops  or  soothes  the  aching.  I 
believe  it,  because  I  have  seen  it." 

Elizabeth  stood  still,  her  bosom  swelling,  and  that  fluttering 
of  her  throat  growing  more  fluttering.  It  got  beyond  her  com- 
mand. The  mixed  passions  and  vexations,  and  with  them  a  cer- 
tain softer  and  more  undefined  regret,  reached  a  point  where  she 
had  no  control  over  them.  The  tears  would  come,  and  once  ar- 
rived at  that,  they  took  their  own  way ;  with  such  a  rush  of  pas- 
sionate indulgence,  that  a  thought  of  the  time  and  the  place  and 
the  witness,  made  nothing,  or  came  in  only  to  swell  the  rush. 
The  flood  poured  over  the  barrier  with  such  joy  at  being  set  free, 
that  it  carried  all  before  it.  Elizabeth  was  just  conscious  of 
being  placed  on  a  seat,  near  to  which  it  happened  that  she  was 
standing;  and  she  knew  nothing  more.  She  did  not  even  know 
how  completely  she  was  left  to  herself.  Not  till  the  fever  of 
passion  was  brought  a  little  down,  and  recollection  and  shame 
began  to  take  their  turn,  and  she  checked  her  tears  and  stole  a 
secret  glance  around  to  see  what  part  of  the  gravel  walk  sup- 
ported a  certain  pair  of  feet,  for  higher  than  the  ground  she  dared 
not  look.  Her  surprise  was  a  good  deal  to  find  that  her  glance 
must  take  quite  a  wide  range  to  meet  with  them ;  and  then  ven- 
turing a  single  upward  look,  she  saw  that  her  companion  stand- 
ing at  a  little  distance  was  not  watching  her,  nor  apparently  had 


234  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHAflEMnC. 

been ;  his  attitude  bespoke  him  quietly  fixed  upon  sometbing  else 
and  awaiting  ber  leisure,  Elizabeth  brougbt  ber  eyes  borne 
again. 

"  Wbat  a  strange  young  man !  "  was  ber  quick  thougbt ; — 
"  to  bave  been  brought  up  a  farmer's  boy,  and  to  know  enougb 
and  to  dare  enougb  to  put  me  on  tbis  seat,  and  tben  to  bave  the 
wit  to  go  off  and  stand  tbere  in  tbat  manner  ! " 

But  tbis  tribute  of  respect  to  Wintbrop  was  instantly  followed 
by  an  endeavour  to  do  berself  bonour,  in  tbe  way  of  gaining  self- 
possession  and  ber  ordinary  looks  as  speedily  as  possible.  Sbe 
commanded  berself  well  after  once  sbe  got  tbe  reins  in  band; 
yet  bowever  it  was  witb  a  grave  consciousness  of  swollen  eyes 
and  flusbed  cbeeks  tbat  she  presently  rose  from  ber  place  and 
went  forward  to  the  side  of  the  quiet  figure  tbat  stood  there  with 
folded  arms  watching  the  rolling  waters  of  tbe  bay.  Elizabeth 
stood  at  his  elbow  a  minute  in  hesitation. 

"  I  am  ready  now,  Mr.  Landholm.  I  am  sorry  I  bave  kept 
you  by  my  ridiculousness." 

"  I  bave  not  been  kept  beyond  my  pleasure,"  he  said. 

"  I  lost  command  of  myself,"  Elizabeth  went  on.  "  That 
happens  to  me  once  in  a  while." 

"  You  will  feel  better  for  it,"  he  said,  as  they  turned  and  be- 
gan to  walk  homewards. 

"  He  takes  things  coolly !  "  thought  Elizabeth. 

"  Do  you  men  ever  lose  command  of  yourselves  ?  " 

"  Sometimes — I  am  afraid,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  your  greater  power  of  nerve  and  of  guarding  ap- 
pearances, is  one  secret  of  the  triumphant  sort  of  pride  you  wear 
upon  occasion.     There — I  see  it  in  your  face  now." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Winthrop  laughing.  "  The  best  instance 
of  self-control  that  I  ever  saw,  was  most  unaccompanied  with  any 
arrogance  of  merit  or  power." 

"  He  means  his  mother  again,"  thought  Elizabeth. 

"  Was  that  instance  in  a  man  or  a  woman,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  It  was  in  a  woman unfortunately  for  your  ground." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Elizabeth.     "  Exceptions  prove  nothing." 

Winthrop  said  nothing,  for  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  that 
image  of  sweet  self-guidance  which  he  had  never  known  to  be  un- 
steady or  fail ;  and  which,  he  knew,  referred  all  its  strength  and 
all  its  stableness  to  the  keeping  of  another  band.  Most  feminine, 
most  bumble,. and  most  sure. 

"  Mr.  Winthrop,  your  mother  puzzles  me,"  said  Elizabetb. 
"  I  wish  I  knew  some  of  her  secrets." 


THE   HILLS    OF   THE   SHATEMTJC.  235 

"  I  wish  I  did,"  he  answered  with  half  a  sigh. 

"  "Why,  don't  you ! " 

"  No." 

"I  thought  you  did." 

"  No ;  for  she  says  they  can  only  be  arrived  at  through  a  cer- 
tain initiation  which  I  have  not  had after  certain  preliminary 

steps,  which  I  have  not  yet  taken." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  hhn,  both  surprised  and  curious. 

"What  are  they?" 

Winthrop's  face  was  graver  than  usual,  as  he  said, 

"  I  wish  my  mother  were  here  to  answer  you." 

"  Why,  cannot  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Don't  you  know  the  preliminary  steps,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

He  looked  very  grave  again. 

"Not  clearly  enough  to  tell  you.  In  general,  I  know  she 
would  say  there  is  a  narrow  way  to  be  passed  through  before  the 
treasures  of  truth,  or  its  fair  prospects,  can  be  arrived  at ;  but  I 
have  never  gone  that  way  myself  and  I  cannot  point  out  the  way- 
marks." 

"Are  you  referring  to  the  narrow  gate  spoken  of  in  the 
Bible?" 

"  To  the  same." 

"  Then  you  are  getting  upon  what  2"  do  not  understand,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

They  had  mounted  the  steps  of  No.  11,  and  were  waiting 
for  the  door  to  be  opened.  They  waited  silently  till  it  was  done, 
and  then  parted  with  only  a  'good  night.'  Elizabeth  did  not 
ask  him  in,  and  it  hardly  occurred  to  Winthrop  to  wonder  that 
she  did  not. 

Mr.  Landholm  read  no  classics  that  night.  Neither  law. 
Neither,  which  may  seem  more  strange,  did  he  consult  his  Book 
of  books  at  all.  He  busied  himself,  not  exactly  with  the  study 
of  the  human  mind,  but  of  two  human  minds, — which,  though  at 
first  sight  it  may  seem  an  enlargement  of  the  subject,  is  in  fact 
rather  a  contracted  view  of  the  same. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 


Sir  Tody.  Do  not  our  lives  consist  of  the  four  elements? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  so  they  say,  but,  I  think,  it  rather  consists  of  eating  and  flrinking. 

Twelfth  Nigh* 

"  Dear,  Mr.  Winthrop, what  makes  all  this  smoke  here  ?  " 

exclaimed  Mrs.  Nettley  one  morning,  as  she  opened  the  door  of 
his  attic. 

"  I  suppose,  the  wind,  Mrs.  Nettley,"  said  "Winthrop  looking 
up  from  the  book  he  was  studying. 

"  O  dear  ! — how  do  you  manage  ?  " 

"I  can't  manage  the  smoke,  Mrs.  Nettley Its  resources 

exceed  mine." 

"  It's  that  chimney !  "  exclaimed  the  good  lady,  standing  and 
eyeing  it  in  a  sort  of  desperate  concern,  as  if  she  would  willingly 
have  gone  up  the  flue  herself,  so  that  only  she  could  thereby  have 
secured  the  smoke's  doing  the  same.  "  I  always  knew  that  chim- 
ney was  bad — I  had  it  once  a  while  myself — I'm  sorry  you've  got 
it  now.     What  do  you  do,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  The  smoke  and  I  take  turns  in  going  out,  Mrs.  Nettley." 

"  Eh  ? — Does  it  often  come  in  so  ?     Can't  you  help  it  ?  " 

"  It  generally  takes  advice  with  the  wind,  not  with  me 
ma'am." 

"  But  the  chimney  might  have  better  advice.  I'll  get  Q-eorge 
to  fetch  a  doctor — I  had  forgotten  it  was  so  bad,  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten it,  and  you  never  say  a  word — Mr.  Landholm  you  never 
come  to  see  us." 

"  I  have  so  much  else  to  see,"  he  said,  glancing  at  his  book. 

"  Yes,  and  that  reminds  me — Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  none  to-day." 

"  Then  you  heard  it  yesterday, — of  course  you  did ;  but  I 
hear  so  little,  when  anything  comes  to  me  that's  new  I  always 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC.  237 

think  it  must  be  new  to  everybody  else.  But  of  course  you  must 
know  it,  as  it  is  about  friends  of  yours ;  I  dare  say  you  knew  it 
long  ago; — though  such  things  are  kept  close  sometimes,  even 
from  friends ;  and  I  somehow  was  surprised  to  hear  this,  though 
I  had  no  right  to  be,  for  I  suppose  I  had  no  reason  for  my  fancy. 
I  think  a  good  many  things  I  have  no  reason  for,  George  thinks. 
Maybe  I  do.     I  cant  help  it." 

"  But  what  is  the  thing  in  this  case,  Mrs.  Nettley  ? "  said 
Winthrop  smiling. 

"  Why  George  told  me — don't  you  know  ?  I  was  a  little  dis- 
appointed, Mr.  Winthrop." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  had  a  fancy  things  were  going  another  way." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

"  That's  because  I  talk  so  ill — It's  this  piece  of  news  George 
brought  home  yesterday — he  was  dining  out,  for  a  wonder,  with 
this  gentleman  who  is  going  to  sit  to  him ;  I  forget  his  name, — 

Mr. 1  don't  know  what  it  is ! — but  I  am  foolish  to  talk  about 

it.  Won't  you  come  down  and  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  us  to-night, 
Mr.  Landholm  ?  that's  what  I  came  up  to  ask,  and  not  to  stand 
interrupting  you.     But  you've  quite  forgotten  us  lately." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Nettley,  I'll  come  with  great  pleasure — 
on  condition  that  you  tell  me  your  news." 

"The  news?  0  it's  no  news  to  you — it's  only  this  about 
Miss  Haye." 

"  What  about  Miss  Haye  ?  " 

"  They  say  that  she  is  going  to  get  married,  to  a  Mr.  Cadwal- 
lader,  George  said.  Her  cousin  I  suppose ;  there  is  a  cousinship 
of  that  name,  isn't  there,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

Mr.  Landholm  bowed. 

"  And  had  you  heard  of  it  before  ?  " 

"No,  I  had  not" 

"  And  is  it  a  good  match  ?     She  is  a  fine  girl,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  know  really  nothing  of  the  matter,  Mrs.  Nettley — I  have 
never  seen  the  gentleman." 

"  Really  !  Haven't  you  ? — then  it  was  news,"  said  the  lady. 
"  I  thought  you  were  accustomed  to  see  them  so  often — I  didn't 
think  I  was  telling  you  anything.  George  and  I — you  must  for- 
give us,  Mr.  Winthrop,  people  will  have  such  thoughts ;  they  will 
come  in,  and  you  cannot  help  it — I  don't  know  what's  to  keep  'em 
out,  unless  one  could  put  bars  and  gates  upon  one's  minds,  and 
you  can't  well  do  that ; — but  George  and  I  used  to  have  suspi- 
cions of  you,  Mr.  Landholm.     Well,  I  have  interrupted  you  long 


238  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTTC. 

enough.  Dear !  what  windows !  I'm  ashamed.  I'll  send  the  girl 
up,  the  first  chance  you  are  out  of  the  house.  I  told  her  to  come 
up  too ;  but  she  is  heedless.  I  haven't  been  to  see  'em  myself 
in  I  don't  know  how  many  days;  but  you're  always  so  terribly 
busy — and  now  I've  staid  twice  too  long !  " 

And  away  she  hurried,  softly  closing  the  door  after  her. 

Mr.  Landholm's  quiet  study  was  remarkably  quiet  for  a  good 
while  after  she  went  out.  No  leaf  of  his  book  rustled  over ;  not 
a  foot  of  his  chair  grated  on  the  floor, — for  though  the  floor  did 
boast  a  bit  of  carpet,  it  lay  not  where  he  sat,  by  the  window ;  and 
the  coals  and  firebrands  fell  noiselessly  down  into  the  ashes  and 
nobody  was  reminded  that  the  fire  would  burn  itself  out  in  time 
if  it  was  let  alone.  The  morning  light  grew  stronger,  and  the 
sunbeams  that  never  got  there  till  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock, 
walked  into  the  room ;  and  they  found  Winthrop  Landholm  with 
his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his  head  in  his  hand,  where  they  often 
were ;  but  with  his  eyes  where  they  not  often  were — on  the  floor. 
The  sunbeams  said  very  softly  that  it  was  time  to  be  at  the 
office,  but  they  said  it  very  softly,  and  Winthrop  did  not  hear 
them. 

He  heard  however  presently  a  footstep  on  the  stair,  in  the 
next  story  at  first,  and  then  mounting  the  uppermost  flight  that 
led  to  the  attic.  A  heavy  brisk  energetic  footstep, — not  Mra, 
Nettley's  soft  and  slow  tread,  nor  the  more  deliberate  one  of  her 
brother.  Winthrop  listened  a  moment,  and  then  as  the  last  im- 
patient creak  of  the  boot  stopped  at  his  threshold  he  knew  who 
would  open  the  door.     It  was  Rufus. 

"  Here  you  are.  Why  I  expected  to  find  you  at  the  office  !  " 
was  the  first  cheery  exclamation,  after  the  brothers  had  clasped 
hands. 

u  What  did  you  come  here  to  find,  then  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Room  for  my  carpet-bag,  in  the  first  place ;  and  a  pair  of 
slippers,  and  comfort.     It's  stinging  weather,  Governor ! " 

"  I  know  it.     I  came  down  the  river  the  night  before  last." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you  knew  it,  for  you've  let  your  fire  go 
down  confoundedly.  Why  Winthrop !  there's  hardly  a  spark 
here !     What  have  you  been  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  I  was  kindling  the  fire,  mentally,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Mentally  ! — where's  your  kindling  ? — I  can  tell  you  ! — if 
you  had  been  out  in  this  air  you'd  want  some  breath  of  material 
flame,  before  you  could  set  any  other  agoing.  And  I  am  afraid 
this  isn't  enough — or  won't  be, — I  want  some  fuel  for  another 
sort  of  internal  combustion — some  of  my  Scotchman's  haggis." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUO.  239 

And  Rufus  stopped  to  laugh,  with  a  very  funny  face,  in  the 
midst  of  his  piling  chips  and  brands  together. 

"  Haggis?  "  said  Winthrop. 

«  Yes. — There  was  a  good  fellow  of  a  Scotchman  in  the  stage 
with  me  last  night — he  had  the  seat  just  behind  me — and  he  and 
a  brother  Scotchman  were  discoursing  valiantly  of  old  world 
things  ;  warming  themselves  up  with  the  recollection. — Winthrop, 
have  you  got  a  bit  of  paper  here  ? — And  I  heard  the  word 
'  haggis '  over  and  over  again, — c  haggis  '  and  'parritch.'  At  last 
I  turned  round  gravely — '  Pray  sir,'  said  I,  l  what  is  a  haggis  ? ' 
'  Weel,  sir,'  said  he  good-humouredly, — '  I  don't  just  know  the  in- 
gredients— it's  made  of  meal, — and  onions,  I  believe, — and  other 
combustibles ! ! ' — Winthrop,  have  you  got  any  breakfast  in  the 
house  ?  " 

"  Not  much  in  the  combustible  line,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Win- 
throp, putting  up  his  books  and  going  to  the  closet. 

"  Well  if  you  can  enact  Mother  Hubbard  and  '  give  a  poor  dog 
a  bone,'  I  shall  be  thankful, — for  anything." 

"I  am  afraid  hunger  has  perverted  your  memory,"  said 
Winthrop. 

"  How  ?  " 

"  If  the  cupboard  should  play  its  part  now,  the  dog  would  go 
without  any." 

"  0  you'll  do  better  for  me  than  that,  I  hope,"  said  Rufus ; 
"  for  I  couldn't  go  on  enacting  the  dog's  part  long ;  he  took  to 
laughing,  if  I  remember,  and  I  should  be  beyond  that  directly." 

"  Does  that  ever  happen  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  as  he  brought  out 
of  the  cupboard  his  bits  of  stores ;  a  plate  with  the  end  of  a  loaf 
of  bread,  a  little  pitcher  of  milk,  and  another  plate  with  some  re- 
mains of  cold  beefsteak.  For  all  reply,  Rufus  seized  upon  a  piece 
of  bread,  to  begin  with,  and  thrusting  a  fork  into  the  beefsteak, 
he  held  it  in  front  of  the  just-burning  firebrands.  Winthrop  stood 
looking  on,  while  Rufus,  the  beefsteak,  and  the  smoke,  seemed 
mutually  intent  upon  each  other.  It  was  a  question  of  time,  and 
patience ;  not  to  speak  of  fortitude. 

"Winthrop,"  said  Rufus  changing  hands  with  his  fork,— 
"  have  you  any  coffee  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  Tea  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Out  of  both?" 

"  For  some  time." 

"  Do  you  live  without  it  ?  " 


24:0  THE  HILLS  OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

"  I  live  without  it." 

"  Without  either  of  them  ?  " 

"  Without  either  of  them." 

*  Theu  how  in  the  world  do  you  live  ?  "  said  Rufus  turning 
his  beefsteak  in  a  very  gingerly  manner  and  not  daring  to  take 
his  eyes  from  it. 

"  Without  combustibles — as  I  told  you." 

"  I  should  think  so  ! "  exclaimed  his  brother.  "  You  are  the 
coolest,  toughest,  most  stubborn  and  unimpressible  piece  of  sen- 
sibility, that  ever  lived  in  a  garret  and  deserved  to  live — some- 
where else." 

"  Doubtful  strain  of  commendation,"  said  Winthrop.  "  What 
has  brought  you  to  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  But  Winthrop,  this  is  a  new  fancy  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  not  very." 

"  How  long  since  ?  " 

"Since  what?" 

"  Since  you  gave  up  all  the  good  things  of  this  life  ?  " 

"  A  man  can  only  give  up  what  he  has,"  said  Winthrop. 
"  Those  I  delivered  into  your  hands  some  ten  minutes  ago." 

"  But  tea  and  coffee — You  used  to  drink  them  ?  " 

tf  Yes." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  For  a  variety  of  reasons,  satisfactory  *to  my  own  mind." 

"  And  have  you  abjured  butter  too  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  Will,"  said  Winthrop  smiling  a  little, — "  I  will 
try  to  have  some  butter  for  you  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  you  eat  it  in  ordinary  ?  " 

"  Always,  when  I  can  get  it.  What  has  brought  you  to 
Mannahatta  ?  " 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  Some  rash  scheme  or  resolution." 

"  Why  ?  » 

"  From  my  judgment  of  your  character,  which  might  be 
stated  as  the  converse  of  that  just  now  so  happily  applied  to  me." 

"  And  do  natures  the  opposite  of  that  never  act  otherwise 
than  rashly  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so ;  for  as  the  coolest  are  sometimes  excited,  so  the 
hot  may  be  sometimes  cool." 

"  And  don't  I  look  cool  ?  " 

"  You  did  when  you  came  in,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  I  should  think  living  on  bread  and  milk  might  help  that,  in 
ordinary,"  said  Rufus.     "  Just  in  my  present  condition  it  has 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  241 

rather  a  different  effect.  "Well  Governor,  I've  come  to  Manna- 
hatta— " 

"  I  see  that,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  I'll  thank  you  not  to  interrupt  me.  I've  come  to  Manna- 
hatta — on  a  piece  of  business." 

"Winthrop  waited,  and  Rufus  after  another  cut  of  the  bread 
and  meat,  went  on. 

"  Governor,  I'm  going  to  quit  engineering  and  take  to  another 
mode  of  making  money." 

"Have  you  done  with  your  last  piece  of  work  at  the  "West?" 

4>  No — I'm  going  back  there  to  finish  it.  O  I'm  going  back 
inert — I've  only  come  here  now  to  sign  some  papers  and  make 
home  arrangements;  I  shall  come  finally,  I  suppose,  about  May, 
*r  April.     I've  been  corresponding  with  Haye  lately." 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"  About  this !  "What  should  I  correspokd  with  him  about  ? 
6y  the  way,  what  an  infernal  piece  of  folly  this  marriage  is !  " 

"  Not  mixed  up  with  your  business,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course ;  how  should  it  ?  but  I  am  tremendously  sur- 
orised.     Aren't  you  ?  " 

"  People  of  my  temperament  never  are,  you  know." 

"  People  of  your  temperament — have  a  corner  for  their 
thoughts,"  said  Rufus.  "  "Well,  there's  one  chance  gone  for  you, 
Governor." 

"  Which  it  does  not  appear  that  I  ever  had." 

"  No  indeed,  that's  very  true.  Well,  about  my  business. — 
Haye  has  advocated  m^  leaving  the  country  and  coming  here. 
And  he  knows  what  he  is  about,  Winthrop ;  he  is  a  capital  man 
of  business.  He  says  he  can  put  me  in  a  way  of  doing  well  for 
myself  in  a  very  short  time  here,  and  he  recommended  my  coming." 

"  What's  his  object  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  What's  his  object  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  should  I  know  !  He  wants  to  serve  me,  I  suppose ; 
and  I  believe  he  has  kindliness  enough  for  me,  to  be  not  unwilling 
to  get  me  in  the  same  place  of  business  with  himself." 

"  What  will  he  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  This,  to  begin  with.  He  has  a  quantity  of  cotton  lying  in 
his  stores,  which  he  offers  to  make  over  to  me,  upon  a  certain  val- 
uation.    And  I  shall  ship  it  to  Liverpool,  as  he  recommends." 

'*  Have  you  got  your  money  from  the  North  Lyttleton  com* 
pany  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  from  anybody  else ;— -not  yet ;  but  it's  coming." 

11 


242  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUO. 

*  Is  this  purchase  of  cotton  to  be  executed  immediately  ?  n 

"  Immediately.     That's  what  I  have  come  down  for." 

"  How  are  you  to  pay  Mr.  Haye  ?  " 

u  By  bills  upon  the  consignees." 

"  Does  the  purchase  swallow  up  all  your  means  ?  " 

"  None  of  them,"  said  Rufus  impatiently.  "  I  tell  you,  it  is 
to  be  consummated  by  drawing  bills  in  Haye's  favour  upon  the  con- 
signees— Fleet,  Norton  &  Co." 

"  Suppose  the  consignment  don't  pay  ?  " 

"  It  will  pay,  of  course !  Don't  you  suppose  Haye  knows 
what  he  is  about  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  that  don't  satisfy  me,  unless  I  know  it  too." 

"  /  do,"  said  Rufus.  "  He  takes  an  interest  in  me  for  my 
father's  sake ;  and  I  think  I  may  say  without  vanity,  for  my  own ; 
and  he  is  willing  to  do  me  a  kindness,  which  he  can  do  without 
hurting  himself.     That  is  all ;  and  very  simple." 

"  Too  simple,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Look  after  my  in-comings ;  and  I  shall  probably  go  into 
Haye's  office  and  rub  up  my  arithmetic  in  the  earlier  branches. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"lam  going  to  the  office, — Mr.  De  Wort's." 

"  What  to  do  there,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Read,  write,  and  record,  law  and  lawpapers." 

"  Always  at  the  same  thing  !  " 

"  Always." 

"  Seems  a  slow  way  of  getting  ahead." 

"  It's  sure,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  You  are  sure,  I  believe,  of  whatever  you  undertake.  By 
the  way — have  you  undertaken  the  other  adventure  yet  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  The  adventure  we  were  talking  about. — The  heiress." 

"  I  can  adventure  nothing  upon  speculation/'  said  Winthrop. 

"  Then  you  have  not  had  a  chance  to  carry  out  your  favourite 
idea  of  obligation.  Do  you  know,  I  never  should  have  suspected 
you  of  having  such  an  idea." 

"  Shews  how  much  we  go  upon  speculation  even  with  our 
nearest  friends,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  And  how  speculation  fails  there  as  elsewhere.  What  a  fool 
Haye  has  made  of  himself  1 " 

"  In  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  this  match." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  243 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"  Done !  why  he  has  done  it.  Enough,  I  should  think.  I 
wish  his  folly  stood  alone." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  has  done  it  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  so  himself.  I  met  him  as  I  came  along  just 
now ;  and  he  told  me  he  was  to  he  married  to-morrow  and  would 
attend  to  my  business  next  day." 

"  Told  you  who  would  ?  " 

"  He.     Himself.     Haye." 

"  Told  you  he  was  to  he  married  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Who  else  ?  " 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"Why! — to  his  niece — ward — what  b  she  Y  Rc«e  Cad- 
wallader." 

"  Mr.  Haye  and  Miss  Cadwallader  !  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  To  be  sure.  What  are  you  thinking  of?  What  have  wa 
been  talking  about  ?  " 

"  You  know  best,"  said  Winthrop.  "  My  informant  had 
brought  another  person  upon  the  stage." 

"Who?" 

"  A  Mr.  Cadwallader." 

"  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  Mr.  Cadwallader.  It's  Haye 
himself;  and  it  only  shews  how  all  a  man's  wisdom  may  be  located 
in  one  quarter  of  his  brain  and  leave  the  other  empty." 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Yes ;  and  you  and  I  are  invited  to  pay  our  respects  at  eleven. 
Haven't  you  had  an  invitation  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  have  been  out  of  town — and  for  the  pres- 
ent I  must  pay  my  respects  in  another  direction.  I  must  leave 
you,  Will." 

"  Look  here.     What's  the  matter  with  you,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  Winthrop  facing  round  upon  his  brother. 

"  Well  I  believe  there  isn't,"  said  Rufus,  taking  a  prolonged 
look  at  him, — "  but  somehow  I  was  thinking — You're  a  fine-look- 
ing fellow,  Winthrop !  " 

"  You'll  find  wood  in  the  further  end  of  the  closet,"  said  Win- 
throp smiling.  "  I  am  afraid  Mother  Hubbard's  shelves  are  in 
classical  order — that  is,  with  nothing  on  them." 

"  I  sha'n't  want  anything  more  till  dinner,"  said  Rufus. 
u  Where  do  you  dine  ?  " 

"  At  the  chop-house  to-day." 

"  I'll  meet  you  there.     Won't  you  be  home  till  night  ?  " 

"  I  never  am." 


24:4  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"Well — till  dinner,"  said  Rufus  waving  his  hand  And  his 
brother  left  him. 

Turning  away  from  the  table  and  his  emptied  dishes  and 
fragmentary  beef-bone,  Rufus  sat  before  the  little  fireplace, 
gazing  into  it  at  the  red  coals,  and  taking  casual  and  then  wistful 
note  of  various  things  about  his  brother's  apartment  that  told  of 
the  man  that  lived  there. 

"  Spare  !  " — said  Rufus  to  himself,  as  his  eye  marked  the 
scanty  carpet,  the  unpainted  few  wooden  chairs  the  curtainless 
bed,  the  rough  deal  shelves  of  the  closet  which  shewed  at  the 
open  door,  and  the  very  economical  chimney  place,  which  now, 
the  wind  having  gone  down,  did  no  longer  smoke; — "  Spare  ! — 
but  he'll  have  a  better  place  to  live  in,  one  of  these  days, 
and  will  furnish  it." — And  visions  of  mahogany  and  of  mirrors 
glanced  across  Rufus's  imagination,  how  unlike  the  images  around 
him  and  before  his  bodily  eye. — "  Spare  ! — poor  fellow  ! — he's 
working  hard  just  now ;  but  pay-time  will  come.  Aod  ordeily, 
— just  like  him ;  his  books  piled  in  order  on  the  window-sill — 
his  papers  held  down  by  one  on  the  table,  the  clean  floor, — 
yes," — and  rising  Rufus  even  went  and  looked  into  the  closet. 
There  was  the  little  stack  of  wood  and  parcel  of  kindling,  like 
wise  in  order ;  there  stood  Winthrop's  broom  in  a  corner ;  and 
there  hung  Winthrop's  few  clothes  that  were  not  folded  away  in 
his  trunk.  Mother  Hubbard's  department  was  in  the  same  spare 
and  thoroughly  kept  style ;  and  Rufus  came  back  thoughtfully 
to  his  seat  before  the  fire. 

"  Like  him,  every  bit  of  it,  from  the  books  to  the  broom. 
Like  him  ; — his  own  mind  is  just  as  free  from  dust  or  confusion ; 
rather  more  richly  furnished.  What  a  mind  it  is  !  and  what 
wealth  he'll  make  out  of  it,  for  pocket  and  for  name  both. 
And  I " 

Here  Rufus's  lucubrations  left  his  brother  and  went  off  upon 
a  sea  of  calculations,  landing  at  Fleet,  Norton  &  Co.  and  then 
coming  back  to  Mannahatta  and  Mr.  Haye's  counting-room.  He 
had  plenty  of  time  for  them,  as  no  business  obviously  could  be 
done  till  the  day  after  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 


Touch.  All  your  writers  do  consent  that  ipse  is  he  ;  now  you  are  nc  ip*>e,  for  I  am  he. 
Well.  Which  he,  sir  ? 

As  You  Like  It. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  morrow  brought  round  eleven 
o'clock ;  and  the  two  brothers  took  their  way,  whither  all  the 
world  severally  were  taking  theirs,  to  Mr.  Haye's  house.  The 
wedding  was  over  and  the  guests  were  pouring  in. 

For  some  reason  or  other  the  walk  was  taken  in  grave 
silence,  by  both  parties,  till  they  were  mounting  the  steps  to  the 
hall  door. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  Elizabeth  will  like  this  ?  "  Rufus  whis- 
pered. 

Winthrop  did  not  say,  nor  indeed  answer  at  all ;  and  his 
brother's  attention  was  caught  the  next  minute  by  Mr.  Herder 
whom  they  encountered  in  the  hall. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  the  naturalist  grasping  both  his 
young  friends'  hands, — "when  did  you  come  ?  and  how  is  all  wiz 
you  ?   I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  married !  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Rufus  laughing. 

"  It  is  very  perplexing,  and  does  not  satisfy  nobody,"  said 
the  naturalist.  "  So  quick  as  a  man  thinks  of  somebody  else  a 
leetle  too  hard,  he  forgets  himself  altogezer ;  and  then,  he  does 
not  be  sure  what  he  is  doing.     Now — dis  man — " 

"  Isn't  he  sure  what  he  has  done  ? "  said  Rufus  much 
amused. 

"  No,  he  does  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 

u  What  does  his  daughter  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  She  looks  black  at  it.  I  do  not  know  <vhat  she  is  thinking 
I  do  not  want  to  know." 


24:6  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO. 

"Ha!     What  does  she  say?" 

"  She  says  nozing  at  all;  she  looks  black,"  said  the  naturalist 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Don't  you  go  to  get  married.  You 
will  not  satisfy  nobody." 

"  Except  myself,"  said  Rufus. 

"  Maybe.  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  A  man  has 
QOt  no  right  to  satisfy  himself  wizout  he  can  satisfy  ozer  people 
too.     I  am  sorry  for  poor  Miss  Elisabet'." 

"I  wonder  how  many  matches  would  be  made  upon  that 
rule  ! "  said  Rufus,  as  they  parted  and  Mr.  Herder  joined  the 
company  within. 

"  They  would  be  all  matches  made  by  other  people,"  said 
Winthrop. 

"  And  on  the  principle  that  '  to-mjrrow  never  comes ' — the 
world  would  come  to  an  end." 

So  they  entered  the  drawing-rooms. 

There  were  many  people  there,  and  certainly  for  the  present 
there  were  few  unsatisfied  faces ;  for  the  bride  was  lovely  enough 
and  the  bridegroom  of  consequence  enough,  to  make  compliments 
to  them  a  matter  of  pleasure  to  the  giver.  The  room  was  bloom- 
ing with  beauty  and  brightness.  But  Miss  Haye  was  not  there  ; 
and  as  soon  as  they  could  withdraw  from  the  principal  group  the 
two  brothers  made  their  way  to  an  inner  room,  where  she  stood, 
holding  as  it  were  a  court  of  her  own ;  and  an  unpropitious  mon- 
arch she  would  have  looked  to  her  courtiers  had  they  been  real 
ones.  Her  face  was  as  lowering  as  Mr.  Herder  had  described  it ; 
settled  in  pain  and  pride ;  though  now  and  then  a  quick  change 
would  pass  over  it,  very  like  the  play  of  lightning  on  a  distant 
cloud ;— fitful,  sharp,  and  traceless.  Just  as  Rufus  and  Winthrop 
had  made  their  bow,  and  before  they  had  time  to  speak,  another 
bow  claimed  Elizabeth's  return,  and  the  tongue  that  went  there- 
with was  beforehand  with  theirs.  The  speaker  was  a  well  dressed 
and  easy  mannered  man  of  the  world ;  but  with  a  very  javelin 
of  an  eye,  as  ready  for  a  throw  as  a  knight's  lance  of  old,  and  as 
careless  what  it  met  in  its  passage  through  humanity. 

"  You  have  wandered  out  of  your  sphere,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " — was  given  with  sufficient  keen- 
ness. 

"  The  bright  constellation  of  beauty  and  happiness  is  in  the 
other  room.     Stars  set  off  one  another." 

11 1  shine  best  alone,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  You  disdain  the  effect  of  commingled  and  reflected  light  ?  " 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  24:7 

"  Yes  I  do,  heartily,  in  this  case.  I  wish  for  no  glory  that 
does  not  belong  to  me." 

"  But  does  not  the  glory  of  your  father  and  mother  belong 
to  you  ?  "  said  the  gentleman.  He  spoke  with  the  most  smooth 
deference  of  manner,  that  all  but  covered  his  intent ;  but  the 
flush  and  fire  started  into  Elizabeth's  face  reminding  one  of  the 
volcano  again.  Her  eye  watered  with  pain  too,  and  she  hesi- 
tated; she- was  evidently  not  ready  with  an  answer.  Perhaps 
for  that  reason  it  was  given  with  added  haughtiness. 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  reckon  what  does  or  what 
does  not  belong  to  me.  I  know  my  belongings,  and  will  take 
care  of  them." 

"  You  are  satisfied  with  them,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  and  will- 
ing they  should  stand  alone  ?  " 

"  I  am  willing  they  should  take  their  chance,  sir." 

"  I  know  no  one  who  can  better  say  that,"  remarked  Rufus. 

"  With  better  confidence,  or  better  grounds  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  need  to  be  told !  "  said  Rufus,  his  eye 
sparkling  half  with  fun  and  half  with  admiration  at  the  face  and 
manner  with  which  Elizabeth  turned  upon  him. 

"  Which  leaves  the  lady  at  liberty  to  suppose  what  she 
pleases,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  It  leaves  her  at  liberty  to  suppose  nothing  of  the  Kind  !  " 
Rufus  rejoined,  with  a  little  dilating  of  the  nostril. 

"Nothing  can  constrain  my  liberty  in  that  respect,"  said 
the  lady  in  question. 

"  Except  your  knowledge  of  human  nature  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  I  have  no  hindrance  in  that,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  To  supposing  what  you  please  ?  " 

"  Or  what  pleases  you,  perhaps,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  Anything  but  that,  Mr  Archibald !  " 

"  Then  it  was  no  surprise  to  you  that  your  father  should  set  a 
young  and  lovely  Mrs.  Haye  at  the  head  of  his  establishment, 
even  though  he  found  her  in  the  person  of  your  playmate  ?  " 

Elizabeth  hesitated ;  she  drew  in  her  under  lip,  and  her  eye 
darkened  and  lightened  ;  but  she  hesitated.  Then  she  spoke, 
looking  down. 

"  I  was  surprised." 

"  Not  a  pleasant  surprise  ?  "  said  Mr.  Archibald. 

The  girl's  face  literally  flashed  at  him ;  from  her  two  eyes 
the  fire  flew,  as  if  the  one  would  confound  the  other. 

"  How  dare  you  ask  me  the  question,  sir  I  " 


248  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Pardon  me — I  had  no  idea  there  was  any  harm  in  it, '  said 
the  person  at  whom  the  fire  flew. 

"  Your  ideas  want  correcting,  sir,  sadly  ! — and  your  tongue." 

11 1  will  never  offend  again  !  "  said  Mr.  Archibald  bowing,  and 
smiling  a  little, 

"  You  never  shall,  with  my  good  leave." 

Mr.  Archibald  bowed  again. 

"  Good  morning !  You  will  forgive  me ;  and  when  I  think 
time  enough  has  elapsed,  and  I  may  with  safety,  I  will  come 
again." 

"  To  visit  my  father,  sir  ! " 


Not  Queen  Elizabeth,  with  ruff  and  farthingale,  could  have 
said  it  with  more  consciousness  of  her  own  dignity,  or  more 
superb  dismission  of  that  of  another.  But  probably  Queen  Eliza- 
beth would  not  have  cast  upon  her  courtiers  the  look,  half  ask- 
ing for  sympathy  and  half  for  approval,  with  which  Elizabeth 
Haye  turned  to  her  companions.  Her  eye  fell  first  upon  Win- 
throp.  But  his  did  not  meet  her,  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  very  grave.  Elizabeth's  look  went  from  it  to  Bufus.  His 
was  beaming. 

"  Capital !  "  he  said.     "  That  was  admirable !  " 

*  No,"  said  Elizabeth  after  a  slight  hesitation, — "  it  was  not." 

"  1  thought  it  was,"  said  Bufus, — "  admirably  done.  Why 
was  it  m  t,  Miss  Haye  ? — if  I  am  not  as  impertinent  as  an- 
other ? — I  thought  he  richly  deserved  his  punishment." 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth  in  a  dissatisfied  kind  of  way, — "  enough 
of  that, — but  I  deserved  better  of  myself  than  to  give  it  to  him." 

"  You  are  too  hard  upon  yourself." 

"  Circumstances  are  sometimes." 

"  Will  it  do  to  say  that  ?  "  said  Winthrop  looking  up. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Will  it  do  to  confess  oneself — one's  freedom  of  mind — under 
the  power  of  circumstance,  and  so  not  one's  own  ?  " 

"  I  must  confess  it,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  for  it's  true,  of  me.  I 
suppose,  not  of  every  one." 

"  Then  you  cannot  depend  upon  yourself." 

«  Well,— I  can't." 

He  smiled. 

"  On  whom  then  ?  " 

"  On  no  one  ! — " 

And  the  blood  sprung  to  her  cheeks  and  the  water  to  her 
eyes,  with  a  sudden  rush.  It  seemed  that  circumstance  was  not 
the  only  thing  too  hard  for  her ;  feeling  had  so  far  the  mastery,  for 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  249 

the  minute,  that  her  head  bent  down  and  she  could  not  at  once 
raise  it  up.  Rufus  walked  off  to  the  window,  where  he  gave  his 
attention  to  some  greenhouse  plants ;  Winthrop  stood  still. 

"I  would  give  anything  in  the  world,"  said  Elizabeth, 
lifting  her  head  and  at  first  humbly  and  then  proudly  wiping  her 
tears  away, — "  if  I  could  learn  self-control — to  command  my- 
self. Can  one  do  it,  Mr.  Landholm  ? — one  with  whom  it  is  not 
born?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  After  all,  you  can't  tell  much  about  it,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  for 
it  belongs  to  your  nature." 

"  No  credit  to  him,"  said  Rufus  returning ; — "  it  comes  of  the 
stock.  An  inch  of  self-control  in  one  not  accustomed  to  it,  is 
worth  more  honour  than  all  Governor's,  which  he  can't  help." 

"  I  wouldn't  give  a  pin  for  self-control  in  one  not  accustomed 
to  it !  "  said  Elizabeth ;  "  it  is  the  habitual  command  over  one- 
self, that  I  value." 

"  No  let-up  to  it  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  No  ; — or  only  so  much  as  to  shew  in  what  strength  it  ex- 
ists. I  am  glad,  for  instance,  that  Washington  for  once  forgot 
himself — or  no,  he  didn't  forget  himself;  but  I  am  glad  that 
passion  got  the  better  of  him  once.  I  respect  the  rest  of  his  life 
infinitely  more." 

"Than  that  instance?" 

"  No,  no  I— for  that  in  stance." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  a  little  tendency  to  hero-worship,  Miss 
Elizabeth." 

"  A  very  safe  tendency,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  There  aren't 
many  heroes  to  call  it  out." 

"  Living  heroes  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  dead  ones, if  one  could  get  at  more  than  the 

great  facts  of  their  lives,  which  don't  shew  us  the  men." 

"  Then  you  are  of  opinion  that  'trifles  make  the  sum  of  hu- 
man things  ? ' " 

"  I  don't  know  what  are  trifles,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Dere  is  nozing  is  no  trifle,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  coming  in 
from  the  other  room.  "  Dere  is  no  such  thing  as  trifle.  Miss 
Elisabet'  hang  her^  head  a  little  one  side  and  go  softly, — and 
people  say,  '  Miss  Elisabet'  is  sad  in  her  spirit — what  is  the  mat- 
ter ? ' — and  you  hold  up  your  head  straight  and  look  bright  out 
of  your  eyes,  arid  they  say,  ■  Miss  Elisabet'  is  fiere — she  feels 
herself  goot ;  she  do  not  fear  nozing,  she  do  not  care  for  nozing." 
11* 


250  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  trifle  whether  I  look  one  way  or  another 
Mr.  Herder,"  said  Elizabeth,  laughing  a  little. 

"  Ozer  people  do  not  think  so,"  said  the  naturalist. 

"  Besides,  it  is  not  true,  that  I  fear  nothing  and  care  for 
nothing." 

"  But  then  you  do  not  want  to  tell  everybody  what  you  do 
think,"  said  the  naturalist. 

"  I  don't  care  much  about  it !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  think 
that  is  a  trifle,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Which  is  ?  " — said  the  naturalist. 

"  What  people  think  about  me." 

"  You  do  not  think  so  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  naturalist. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"It  is  not  goot,  for  people  to  not  care  what  ozer  people 
thinks  about  them." 

"  Why  isn't  it  good  ?  I  think  it  is.  I  am  sure  it  is  com- 
fortable." 

"  It  shews  they  have  a  mind  to  do  something  what  ozer  peo- 
ple will  not  like." 

"  Very  well ! " 

"  Dat  is  not  goot." 

"  Maybe  it  is  good,  Mr.  Herder.  People  are  not  always  right 
in  their  expectations." 

"  It  is  better  to  go  smooth  wiz  people,"  said  the  naturalist 
shaking  his  head  a  little. 

"  Or  without  them,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Question,  can  you  do  that  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  What  ?  "  said  his  brother. 

"Live  smoothly,  or  live  at  all,  without  regard  to  other 
people." 

"  It  is  of  the  world  at  large  I  was  speaking,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  Of  course  there  are  some  few,  a  very  few,  whose  word — and 
whose  thought — one  would  care  for  and  strive  for, — that  is  not 
what  I  mean." 

"  And  who  are  those  few  fine  persons  ?  "  said  Mr.  Herder 
significantly. 

"  He  is  unhappy  that  doesn't  know  one  or  two,"  Elizabeth 
answered  with  infinite  gravity. 

"  And  the  opinions  of  the  rest  of  men  you  would  despise  ?  " 
said  Rufus. 

"  Utterly  ! — so  far  as  they  trenched  upon  my  freedom  of 
iction." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTG.  251 

u  You  can't  live  so,"  said  Rufus  shaking  his  head. 

u  I  will  live  so,  if  I  live  at  all." 

"  Wint'rop,  you  do  not  say  nozing,"  said  the  naturalist. 

"What  need,  sir?" 

"  Dere  is  always  need  for  everybody  to  say  what  he  thinks," 
said  Mr.  Herder.  "  Here  we  have  all  got  ourselves  in  a  puzzle, 
and  we  don't  know  which  way  we  stand." 

"lam  afraid  every  man  must  get  out  of  that  puzzle  for  him* 
self,  sir." 

"Is  it  a  puzzle  at  all?"  said  Elizabeth  facing  round  upon 
him. 

"  Not  when  you  have  got  out  of  it." 

"  Well,  what's  the  right  road  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Break  through  everything  in  the  way,"  said  Rufus.  "  That 
seems  to  be  the  method  in  favour.' 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  right  way  ?  "  Elizabeth  repeated 
without  looking  at  the  last  speaker. 

"  If  you  set  your  face  in  the  right  quarter,  there  is  always  a 
straight  road  out  in  that  direction,"  Winthrop  answered  with  a 
little  bit  of  a  smile. 

"  Doesn't  that  come  pretty  near  my  rule  ?  "  said  Elizabeth 
with  a  smile  much  broader. 

"  I  think  not.  If  I  understood,  your  rule  was  to  make  a 
straight  road  out  for  yourself  in  any  direction." 

Elizabeth  laughed  and  coloured  a  little,  with  no  displeased 
expression.  The  laugh  subsided  and  her  face  became  very  grave 
again  as  the  gentlemen  made  their  parting  bows. 

The  brothers  walked  home  in  silence,  till  they  had  near 
reached  their  own  door. 

"  How  easily  you  make  a  straight  way  for  yourself  any- 
where !  "  Rufus  said  suddenly  and  with  half  a  breath  of  a  sigh. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Winthrop  starting. 

"  You  always  did." 

"What?" 

"  What  you  pleased." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Winthrop  smiling. 

"  You  may  do  it  now.     And  will  to  the  end  of  your  life." 

"  Which  seems  to  afford  you  somehow  a  gloomy  prospect  of 
contemplation,"  said  his  brother. 

«  Well — it  does and  it  should." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  you  state  your  premises  and  draw  your 
conclusion." 

Rufus  was  silent  and  very  sober  for  a  little  while.  At  last 
he  said, 


252  THE   HILLS   OF   TBE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Your  success  and  mine  have  always  been  very  different,  in 
everything  we  undertook." 

"  Not  in  everything,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Well — in  almost  everything." 

"  You  say  I  do  whatever  I  please.  The  difficulty  with  you 
sometimes,  Will,  is  that  you  do  not  '  please '  hard  enough." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  for  anybody  to  rival  you  in  that,"  Ku- 
fiis  said  with  a  mingling  of  expression,  half  ironical  and  half 
bitter.     "  You  please  so  '  hard '  that  nobody  else  has  a  chance." 

To  which  Winthrop  made  no  answer. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  for  it,  Governor,"  Rufus  said  just  as  they 
reached  their  door,  and  with  a  very  changed  and  quiet  tone. 

To  which  also  Winthrop  made  no  answer  except  by  a  look. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


I  watch  thee  from  the  quiet  shore ; 

Thy  spirit  up  to  mine  can  reach  ; 

But  in  dear  words  of  human  speecb 
We  two  communicate  no  more. 

Tennyson. 


Mrs.  Nettley  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  her 
breakfast — that  is,  to  her  breakfast  in  prospect.  A  dish  of  fish 
and  the  coffee-pot  stood  keeping  each  other  cheerful  on  one  side 
the  hearth ;  and  Mrs.  Nettley  was  just,  with  some  trouble,  hang- 
ing a  large  round  griddle  over  the  blazing  fire.  Her  brother 
stood  by,  with  his  hands  on  his  sides,  and  a  rather  complacent 
face. 

"  What's  that  flap-jack  going  on  for  ?  " 

"For  something  I  like,  if  you  don't,"  said  his  sister. 
"George—" 

Mrs  Nettley  stopped  while  her  iron  ladle  was  carefully  be- 
stowing large  spoonfuls  of  batter  all  round  the  griddle. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Mr.  Inchbald,  when  it  was  done. 

"  Somebody  up-stairs  likes  'em.  Don't  you  suppose  you  could 
get  Mr.  Landholm  to  come  down.  He  likes  'em,  and  he  don't  get 
'em  now-a-days — nor  too  much  of  anything  that's  good.  I  don't 
know  wh%t  he  does  live  on,  up  there." 

"  Anything  is  better  than  those  things,"  said  her  brother. 

"  Other  people  are  more  wise  than  you.  Do  go  up  and  ask 
him,  will  you,  Greorge  ?  I  hope  he  gets  good  dinners  somewhere, 
for  it's  very  little  of  anything  he  cooks  at  that  smoky  little  fire- 
place of  his.     Do  you  ever  see  him  bring  anything  in  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  don't  see  him  bring  himself  in,  you  know.  But 
he'll  do.  He'll  have  enough  by  and  by,  Dame  Nettley.  I  know 
what  stuff  he's  of." 

"  Yes,  but  no  stuff  '11  last  without  help,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley 


254:  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

taking  her  cakes  off  the  griddle  and  piling  them  up  carefully. 
"  Now  I'm  all  ready,  Greorge,  and  you're  standing  there — it's  al- 
ways the  way — and  before  you  can  mount  those  three  pair  of 
stairs  and  down  again,  these  '11  he  cold.  Do  go,  George ;  Mr. 
Landholm  likes  his  cakes  hot — I'll  have  another  plateful  ready  be- 
fore you'll  be  here ;  and  then  they're  good  for  nothing  but  to 
throw  away." 

"  That's  what  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald ;  "  but  I'll  bring 
him  down  if  I  can,  to  do  what  you  like  with  'em — only  I  must 
see  first  what  this  knocking  wants  at  the  front  door." 

"  And  left  this  one  open  too !  " — said  Mrs.  Nettley, — >"  and 
now  the  whole  house  '11  be  full  of  smoke  and  everything — Well ! 
— I  might  as  well  not  ha'  put  this  griddleful  on." — 

But  the  door  having  refused  to  latch,  gave  Mrs.  Nettley  a 
chance  to  hear  what  was  going  on.  She  stood,  slice  in  hand, 
listening.  Some  unaccustomed  tones  came  to  her  ear — then 
Mr.  Inchbald's  round  hearty  voice,  saying, 

u  Yes  sir — he  is  here — he  is  at  home." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him " 

And  then  the  sounds  of  scraping  feet  entering  the  house. 

"I'd  like  to  go  somewheres  that  I  could  see  a  fire,  too,"  said 
the  strange  voice.  "Ben  ridin'  all  night,  and  got  to  set  off 
again,  you  see,  directly." 

And  Mrs.  Nettley  turned  her  cakes  in  a  great  hurry,  as  her 
brother  pushed  open  the  door  and  let  the  intruder  in. 

He  took  off  his  hat  as  he  came,  shewing  a  head  that  had  seen 
some  sixty  winters,  thinly  dressed  with  yellow  hair  but  not  at  all 
grey.  The  face  was  strong  and  Yankee-marked  with  shrewdness 
and  reserve.  His  nat  was  wet  and  his  shoulders,  which  had  no 
protection  of  an  overcoat. 

"  Dp.  you  wish  to  see  Mr.  Landholm  in  his  room  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Inchbald.     "  He's  just  coming  down  to  breakfast." 

"  That'll  do  as  well,"  said  the  stranger  nodding.  "  And  stop 
— you  may  give  him  this — maybe  he'd  as  lieve  have  it  up 
there." 

Mr.  Inchbald  looked  at  the  letter  handed  him,  the  outside  of 
which  at  least  told  no  tales ;  but  his  sister  with  a  woman's  quick 
instinct  had  already  asked, 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Matter  ?  " — said  the  stranger, — "  well,  yes. — He's  wanted 
to  hum." 

Both  brother  and  sister  stood  now  forgetting  everything,  both 
paying  in  a  breath, 


THE    HILLS    OF    IDE    SHATEMT30.  255 

"Wanted,  what  for?" 

"  Well — there's  sickness—" 

"His  father?" 

"  No,  his  mother." 

Mrs.  Nettley  threw  down  her  slice  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 
Mr.  Inchbald  turned  away  slowly  in  the  other  direction.  The 
stranger,  left  alone,  took  a  knife  from  the  table  and  dished  the 
neglected  cakes,  and  sat  down  to  dry  himself  between  them  and 
the  coffee. 

Mr.  Inchbald  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to  Winthrop's  door, 
met  the  pleasant  face  that  met  him  there,  and  gave  the  letter. 

"  I  was  coming  to  ask  you  down  to  breakfast  with  us,  Mr. 
Landholm ;  but  somebody  has  just  come  with  that  for  you,  and 
wishes  you  to  have  it  at  once." 

The  pleasant  face  grew  grave,  and  the  seal  was  broken,  and 
the  letter  unfolded.  It  was  a  folio  half  sheet,  of  coarse  yellowish 
paper,  near  the  upper  end  of  which  a  very  few  lines  were  irregu- 
larly written. 

"  My  dear  Son, 

"  It  is  with  great  pain  I  write  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  leave  all  and  hasten  home  if  you  would  see  your  mother. 
Friend  Underhill  will  take  this  to  you,  and  your  shortest  way 
will  be,  probably,  to  hire  a  horse  in  M.  and  travel  night  and  day ; 
as  the  time  of  the  boat  is  uncertain  and  the  stage  does  not  make 
very  good  time — Her  illness  has  been  so  short  that  we  did  not 
know  it  was  necessary  to  alarm  you  before.  My  dear  son,  come 
without  delay — 

"  Your  father, 

"  W.  Landholm." 

Mr.  Inchbald  watched  the  face  and  manner  of  his  friend  as 
he  read,  and  after  he  read,  these  few  words, — but  the  one  ex- 
pressed only  gravity,  the  other,  action.  Mr.  Inchbald  felt  he 
could  do  nothing,  and  slowly  went  down  stairs  again  to  Mr. 
Underhill.  He  found  him  still  over  the  fire  between  the  cakes 
and  the  coffee.  But  Mr.  Inchbald  totally  forgot  to  be  hospitable, 
and  not  a  word  was  said  till  Winthrop  came  in  and  he  and  the 
letter-bringer  had  wrung  each  other's  hand,  with  a  brief  '  how 
d'  ye  do.' 

"  How  did  you  leave  them,  Mr.  Underhill  ?  " 

"  Well — they  were  wantin'  you  pretty  bad — " 

" Did  she  send  for  me?" 


256  THE    HILLS     OF     THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Well — no — I  guess  not,"  said  the  other  with  something  of 
hesitancy,  or  of  consideration,  in  his  speech.  Winthrop  stood 
silent  a  moment. 

"  I  shall  take  horse  immediately.     You  will  go — how  ?  " 

"  May  as  well  ride  along  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Underhill, 
settling  his  coat.  "  I'm  wet — a  trifle — but  may  as  well  ride  it 
off  as  any  way.     Start  now  ?  " 

"  Have  you  breakfasted  ?  " 

"Well — no,  I  hain't  had  time,  you  see — I  come  straight 
to  you." 

"  Mr.  Inchbald,  I  must  go  to  the  office  a  few  minutes — will 
you  give  my  friend  a  mouthful  ?  " 

"  But  yourself,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  breakfast." 

Mr.  Inchbald  did  his  duty  as  host  then ;  but  though  his  guest 
used  despatch,  the  '  mouthful '  was  hardly  a  hungry  man's  break- 
fast when  Winthrop  was  back  again.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the 
two  were  mounted  and  on  their  way  up  the  right  bank  of  the 
river. 

They  rode  silently.  At  least  if  Mr.  Underbill's  wonted  talk- 
ativeness  found  vent  at  all,  it  was  more  than  Winthrop  was  able 
ever  to  recollect.  He  could  remember  nothing  of  the  ride  but 
his  own  thoughts;  and  it  seemed  to  him  afterwards  that  they 
must  have  been  stunning  as  well  as  deafening ;  so  vague  and  so 
blended  was  the  impression  of  them  mixed  up  with  the  impression 
of  everything  else.  It  was  what  Mr.  Underhill  called  '  falling 
weather  ' ;  the  rain  dropped  lightly,  or  by  turns  changing  to  mist 
hung  over  the  river  and  wreathed  itself  about  the  hills,  and  often 
stood  across  his  path ;  as  if  to  bid  the  eye  turn  inward,  for  space 
to  range  without  it  might  not  have.  And  passing  all  the  other 
journeys  he  had  made  up  and  down  that  road,  some  of  them 
on  horseback  as  he  was  now,  Winthrop's  thoughts  went  back  to 
that  first  one,  when  through  ill  weather  and  discouragement  he 
had  left  the  home  he  was  now  seeking,  to  enter  upon  his  great- 
world  career.  Why  did  they  so  ?  He  had  been  that  road  in 
the  rain  since ;  he  had  been  there  in  all  weathers ;  he  had  been 
there  often  with  as  desponding  a  heart  as  brought  him  down  that 
first  time ;  which  indeed  did  not  despond  at  all  then,  though  it 
felt  the  weight  of  life's  undertakings  and  drawbacks.  And  the 
warm  rain,  and  yellow,  sun-coloured  mist  of  this  April  day,  had 
no  likeness  to  the  cold,  pitiless,  pelting  December  storm.  Yet 
passing  all  the  times  between,  his  mind  went  back  constantly  to 
that  first  one.     He  felt  over  again,  though  as  in  a  dream,  its  steps 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  257 

of  loneliness  and  heart-sinking — its  misty  looking  forward — and 
most  especially  that  Bible  word  '  Now  ' — which  his  little  sister's 
finger  had  pointed  out  to  him.  He  remembered  how  constantly 
that  day  it  came  back  to  him  in  everything  he  looked  at, — from 
the  hills,  from  the  river,  from  the  beat  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  from 
the  falling  rain.  '  Now ' — '  now ' — he  remembered  how  he  had 
felt  it  that  day ;  he  had  almost  forgotten  it  since ;  but  now  it 
came  up  again  to  his  mind  as  if  that  day  had  been  but  yesterday. 
"What  brought  it  there?  "Was  it  the  unrecognized,  unallowed 
sense,  that  the  one  of  all  the  world  who  most  longed  to  have  him 
obey  that  word,  might  be  to-day  beyond  seeing  him  obey  it — for 
ever  ?  Was  it  possibly,  that  passing  over  the  bridge  of  Mirza's 
vision  he  suddenly  saw  himself  by  the  side  of  one  of  the  open 
trap-doors,  and  felt  that  some  stay,  some  security  he  needed,  before 
his  own  foot  should  open  one  for  itself  ?  He  did  not  ask ;  he  did 
not  try  to  order  the  confused  sweep  of  feeling  which  for  the  time 
passed  over  him ;  one  dread  idea  for  the  time  held  mastery  of  all 
others,  and  kept  that  day's  ride  all  on  the  edge  of  that  open  trap- 
door.    Whose  foot  had  gone  down  there  ? And  under  that 

thought, — woven  in  with  the  various  tapestry  of  shower  and  sun- 
shine, meadow  and  hillside,  that  clothed  his  day's  journey  to  the 
sense, — were  the  images  of  that  day  in  December — that  final 
leaving  of  home  and  his  mother,  that  rainy  cold  ride  on  the  stage- 
coach, Winnie's  open  Bible,  and  the  '  Now,'  to  which  her  finger, 
his  mother's  prayers,  and  his  own  conscience,  had  pointed  all  the 
day  long. 

It  made  no  difference,  that  as  they  went  on,  this  April  day 
changed  from  rain  and  mist  to  the  most  brilliant  sunshine.  The 
mists  rolled  away,  down  the  river  and  along  the  gulleys  of  the 
mountains;  the  clouds  scattered  from  off  the  blue  sky,  which 
looked  down  clear,  fair,  and  soft,  as  if  Mirza's  bridge  were  never 
under  it.  The  little  puddles  of  water  sparkled  in  the  sunshine 
and  reflected  the  blue ;  the  roads  made  haste  to  dry  ;  the  softest 
of  spring  airs  wafted  down  from  the  hill-sides  a  spicy  remem- 
brance of  budding  shoots  and  the  drawn-out  sweetness  of  pine 
and  fir  and  hemlock  and  cedar.  The  day  grew  sultrily  warm. 
But  though  sunlight  and  spring  winds  carried  their  tokens  to 
memory's  gates  and  left  them  there,  they  were  taken  no  Dote 
of  at  the  time,  by  one  traveller,  and  the  other  had  no  mental  ap- 
paratus fine  enough  to  gather  them  up. 

He  had  feeling  or  delicacy  enough  of  another  kind,  however, 
to  keep  him  quiet.  He  sometimes  looked  at  Winthrop ;  never 
spoke  to  him.     Almost  never ;  if  he  spoke  at  all,  it  was  in  some 


258  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

aside  or  counsel-taking  with  himself  about  the  weather,  the  way 
or  the  prospect  and  management  of  the  farming  along  the  river 
They  stopped  only  to  bait  or  to  rest  their  horses ;  even  at  those 
times  Mr.  Underbill  restrained  himself  not  only  from  talking  to 
Winthrop  but  from  talking  before  him;  and  except  when  his 
companion  was  at  a  distance,  kept  as  quiet  as  he.  Winthrop 
asked  no  questions. 

The  road  grew  hilly,  and  in  some  places  rough,  trying  to  the 
horses ;  and  by  the  time  they  were  fairly  among  the  mountain 
land  that  stood  down  far  south  from  Wut-a-qut-o,  the  sun  was 
nearing  the  fair  broken  horizon  line  of  the  western  shore.  The 
miles  were  long  now,  when  they  were  no  longer  many ;  the  road 
was  more  and  more  steep  and  difficult ;  the  horses  weary.  The 
sun  travelled  faster  than  they  did.  A  gentler  sunlight  never  lay 
in  spring-time  upon  those  hills  and  river ;  it  made  the  bitter 
turmoil  and  dread  of  the  way  seem  the  more  harsh  and  ungentle. 
Their  last  stopping-place  was  at  Cowslip's  Mill — on  the  spot 
where  seven  years  before,  Winthrop  had  met  the  stage-coach 
and  its  consignment  of  ladies. 

"  The  horses  must  have  a  minute  here — and  a  bite,"  said  Mr. 
Underhill  letting  himself  slowly  down  from  his  beast ; — u  lose  no 
time  by  it." 

For  a  change  of  posture  Winthrop  threw  himself  off,  and 
stood  leaning  on  the  saddle,  while  his  travelling  companion  and 
Mr.  Cowslip  came  up  the  rise  bringing  water  and  food  to  the 
horses.  No  more  than  a  grave  nod  was  exchanged  between  Win- 
throp and  his  old  neighbour ;  neither  said  one  word ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  buckets  were  empty  the  travellers  were  on  their  way  again. 

It  was  but  a  little  way  now.  The  sun  had  gone  behind  the 
mountain,  the  wind  had  died,  the  perfect  stillness  and  loveliness 
of  evening  light  was  over  hill  and  river  and  the  home  land,  as  the 
riders  came  out  from  the  woods  upon  the  foot  of  the  bay  and  saw 
it  all  before  them.  A  cloudless  sky, — the  white  clear  western 
light  where  the  sun  had  been, — the  bright  sleeping  water, — tne 
sweet  lights  and  shades  on  Wut-a-qut-o  and  its  neighbour  hills,  the 
lower  and  darker  promontory  throwing  itself  across  the  landscape  ; 
and  from  one  spot,  that  half-seen  centre  of  the  picture,  the  little 
brown  speck  on  Shah-wee-tah, — a  thin,  thin  wreath  of  smoke 
slowly  went  up.  Winthrop  for  one  moment  looked,  and  then  rode 
on  sharply  and  Mr.  Underhill  was  fain  to  bear  him  company. 
They  had  rounded  the  bay — they  had  ridden  over  the  promontory 
neck — they  were  within  a  little  of  home, — when  Winthrop  sud- 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  259 

denly  drew  bridle.     Mr.  Underhill  stopped.     Winthrop  turned 
towards  him,  and  asked  the  question  not  asked  till  then. 

"  How  is  it  at  home,  Mr.  Underhill  ?  " 

And  Mr.  Underhill  without  looking  at  him,  answered  in  the 
same  tones,  a  moment  of  pause  between, 

"  She's  gone." 

Winthrop's  horse  carried  him  slowly  forward ;  Mr.  Underbill's 
was  seen  no  more  that  night — unless  by  Mr.  Cowslip  and  his  son. 

Slowly  Winthrop's  horse  carried  him  forward — but  little 
time  then  was  needed  to  bring  him  round  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  at  the  kitchen  door,  whither  the  horse-path  led.  It  was 
twilight  now ;  the  air  was  full  of  the  perfume  of  cedars  and  pines, 
— the  clear  white  light  shone  in  the  west  yet.  Winthrop  did  not 
see  it.  He  only  saw  that  there  was  no  light  in  the  windows. 
And  that  curl  of  thin  smoke  was  the  only  thing  he  had  seen  stir- 
ring about  the  house.  He  got  off  his  horse  and  went  into  the 
kitchen. 

There  was  light  enough  to  see  who  met  him  there.  It  was  his 
father.  There  was  hardly  light  to  see  faces ;  but  Mr.  Landholm 
laid  both  hands  on  his  son's  shoulders,  saying, 

"  My  dear  boy ! — it's  all  over ! " 

And  Winthrop  laid  his  face  on  his  father's  breast,  and  for  a 
few  breaths,  sobbed,  as  he  had  not  done  since since  his  child- 
ish eyes  had  found  hiding-place  on  that  other  breast  that  could 
rest  them  no  more. 

It  was  but  a  few  minutes ; — and  manly  sorrow  had  given  way 
and  taken  again  its  quiet  self-control ;  once  and  for  ever.  The 
father  and  son  wrung  each  other's  hands,  the  mute  speech  of  hand 
to  hand  telling  of  mutual  suffering  and  endurance,  and  affection, 
— all  that  could  be  told ;  and  then  after  the  pause  of  a  minute, 
Winthrop  moved  on  towards  the  family  room,  asking  softly,  "  Is 
she  here  ?  " But  his  father  led  him  through,  to  the  seldom- 
used  e&st-room. 

Asahel  was  there ;  but  he  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  And  old 
Karen  was  there,  moving  about  on  some  trifling  errand  of  duty ; 
but  her  quick  nature  was  under  less  government ;  it  did  not  bear 
the  sight  of  Winthrop.  Dropping  or  forgetting  what  she  was 
about,  she  came  towards  him  with  a  bursting  cry  of  feeling,  half 
for  herself,  half  sympathetic ;  and  with  the  freedom  of  old  acquaint- 
ance and  affection  and  common  grief,  laid  her  shrivelled  black 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  up  into  his  facey  saying,  almost 
as  his  father  had  done,  but  with  streaming  eyes  and  quivering 
lips, 


260  THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  My  dear  son! — she  has  gone ! " 

Winthrop  took  the  hand  in  his  and  gave  it  a  moment's  pres* 
sure,  and  then  saying  very  gently  but  in  a  way  that  was  obeyedt 
"  Be  quiet  Karen," — he  passed  her  and  stood  at  his  mother's  bed- 
side. 

She  was  there — lying  quietly  in  her  last  sleep.  Herself  and 
not  another.  All  of  her  that  could  write  and  leave  its  character 
on  features  of  clay,  was  shewn  there  still — in  its  beauty.  The 
brow  yet  spoke  the  calm  good  sense  which  had  always  reigned  be- 
neath it ;  the  lines  of  toil  were  on  the  cheek ;  the  mouth  had  its 
old  mingling  of  patience  and  hope  and  firm  dignity — the  dignity 
of  meek  assurance  which  looked  both  to  the  present  and  the  fu- 
ture. It  was  there  now,  unchanged,  unlessened ;  Winthrop  read 
it ;  that  as  she  had  lived,  so  she  had  died,  in  sure  expectation  of 
1  the  rest  that  remaineth.'  Herself  and  no  other ! — ay  !  that  came 
home  too  in  another  sense,  with  its  hard  stern  reality,  pressing 
home  upon  the  heart  and  brain,  till  it  would  have  seemed  that 
nature  could  not  bear  it  and  must  give  way.  But  it  did  not. 
Winthrop  stood  and  looked,  fixedly  and  long,  so  fixedly  that  no 
one  cared  to  interrupt  him,  but  so  calmly  in  his  deep  gravity  that 
the  standers-by  were  rather  awed  than  distressed.  And  at  last 
when  he  turned  away  and  Asahel  threw  himself  forward  upon 
his  neck,  Winthrop's  manner  was  as  firm  as  it  was  kind ;  though 
he  left  tnem  all  then  and  forbade  Asahel  to  follow  him. 

"  The  Lord  bless  him !  "  said  Karen,  loosing  her  tongue  then 
and  giving  her  tears  leave  at  the  same  time.  "  And  surely  the  Lord 
has  blessed  him,  or  he  wouldn't  ha'  borne  up  so.  She  won't  lose 
that  one  of  her  childr'n — she  won't,  no  she  won't !  — I  know  she 
won't !  — " 

"  Where  is  Winnie,  Karen  ?  "  said  Asahel  suddenly. 

%i  Poor  soul ! — I  dun  know,"  said  Karen ; — "  she  was  afeard  to 
see  the  Governor  come  home,  and  dursn't  stop  nowheres — I  dun 
know  where  she's  hid. — The  Lord  bless  him  !  nobody  needn't  ha' 
feared  him.     He's  her  own  boy — aint  he  her  own  boy  ! " 

Asahel  went  out  to  seek  for  his  little  sister,  but  his  search 
was  in  vain.  She  was  not  to  be  seen  nor  heard  of.  Neither  did 
Winthrop  come  to  the  sorrowful  gathering  which  the  remnant  of 
the  family  made  round  the  supper-table.  In  the  house  he  was 
not ;  and  wherever  he  was  out  of  the  house,  he  was  beyond  reach. 

"  Could  thay  have  gone  away  together  ?  "  said  Asahel. 

"No!"  sWs  father. 

"  They  didK/'  said  Clam.     "  I  see  him  go  off  by  himself." 

"Which  way?" 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  261 

"  Off  among  the  trees,"  said  Clam. 

'  Which  way  ?  "  said  Mr.  Landholm. 

"  His  back  was  to  the  house,  and  he  was  goin'  off  towards 
the  river  some  place — I  guess  he  didn't  want  no  one  to  foller 
him." 

"  There  aint  no  wet  nor  cold  to  hurt  him,"  said  Karen. 

There  was  not ;  but  they  missed  him. 

And  the  house  had  been  quiet,  very  quiet,  for  long  after  sup- 
per-time, when  softly  and  cautiously  one  of  the  missing  ones 
opened  the  door  of  the  east-room  and  half  came  in.  Only  Karen 
sat  there  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Winnie  came  in  and  came  up 
to  her. 

"He's  not  here,  darlin',"  said  the  old  woman, — "and  ye 
needn't  ha'  started  from  him. — 0  cold  face,  and  white  face  !— 
what  ha'  you  done  with  yourself,  Winnie,  to  run  away  from  him 
so  ?  Ye  needn't  ha'  feared  him.  Poor  lamb  ! — poor  white 
lamb !— " 

The  girl  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  laid  her  face  on  Karen's 
lap,  where  the  still  tears  ran  very  fast. 

"  Poor  white  lamb !  "  said  the  old  woman,  tenderly  laying  her 
wrinkled  hand  on  Winnie's  fair  hair, — "  Ye  haven't  eat  a  crumb 
— Karen'll  fetch  you  a  bit  ? — ye'll  faint  by  the  way — " 

Winnie  shook  her  head.    "  No — no." 

"  What  did  you  run  away  for  ?  "  Karen  went  on.  "  Ye  run 
away  from  your  best  comfort — but  the  Lord's  help,  Winnie ; — 
he's  the  strongest  of  us  all." 

But  something  in  that  speech,  Karen  could  not  divine  what, 
made  Winnie  sob  convulsively  ;  and  she  thought  best  to  give  up 
her  attempts  at  counsel  or  comforting. 

The  wearied  and  weakened  child  must  have  needed  both,  for 
she  weft  unceasingly  on  Karen's  knees  till  late  in  the  night ;  and 
then  in  sheer  weariness  the  heavy  eyelids  closed  upon  the  tears 
that  were  yet  ready  to  come.  She  slumbered,  with  her  head  still 
on  Karen's  lap. 

"  Poor  lamb  ! "  said  Karen  when  she  found  it  out,  bending 
over  to  look  at  her, — "poor  lamb! — she'll  die  of  this  if  the 
Governor  can't  help  her, — and  she  the  Lord's  child  too. — Maybe 
best,  poor  child ! — maybe  best ! — '  Little  traveller  Z ion- ward  ' 
—I  wish  we  were  all  up  at  those  gates,  0  Lord  ! " 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and  then  the 
old  woman  changed  her  tone. 

"  Winnie ! — Winnie ! — go  to  bed — go  to  bed  !  Your  mother  'd 
Bay  it  if  she  was  here." 


262  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Winnie  raised  her  head  and  opened  her  eyes,  and  Karen  re- 
peating her  admonition  in  the  same  key,  the  child  got  up  and 
went  mechanically  out  of  the  room,  as  if  to  obey  it. 

It  was  by  this  time  very  late  in  the  night ;  the  rest  of  the 
inmates  of  the  house  had  long  been  asleep.  No  lights  were  burn- 
ing except  in  the  room  she  had  left.  But  opening  the  door  of  the 
kitchen,  through  which  her  way  lay  to  her  own  room,  Winnie  found 
there  was  a  glimmer  from  the  fire,  which  usually  was  covered  up 
close;  and  coming  further  into  the  room,  she  saw  some  one 
stretched  at  full  length  upon  the  floor  at  the  fireside.  Another 
step,  and  Winnie  knew  it  was  Winthrop.  He  was  asleep,  his 
head  resting  on  a  rolled-up  cloak  against  the  jamb.  Winnie's 
tears  sprang  forth  again,  but  she  would  not  waken  him.  She 
kneeled  down  by  his  side,  to  look  at  him,  as  well  as  the  faint  fire- 
glow  would  let  her,  and  to  weep  over  him ;  but  her  strength  was 
worn  out.  It  refused  even  weeping;  and  after  a  few  minutes, 
nestling  down  as  close  to  him  as  she  could  get,  she  laid  one  arm 
and  her  head  upon  his  breast  and  went  to  sleep  too.  More 
peacefully  and  quietly  than  she  had  slept  for  several  nights. 

The  glimmer  from  the  fire-light  died  quite  away,  and  only  the 
bright  stars  kept  watch  over  them.  The  moon  was  not  where  she 
could  look  in  at  those  north  or  east  kitchen  windows.  But  by 
degrees  the  fair  April  night  changed.  Clouds  gathered  themselves 
up  from  all  quarters  of  the  horizon,  till  they  covered  the  sky ;  the 
faces  of  the  stars  were  hid;  thunder  began  to  roll  along  among 
the  hills,  and  bright  incessant  flashes  of  white  lightning  kept  the 
room  in  a  glare.  The  violence  of  the  storm  did  not  come  over 
Shah-wee-tah,  but  it  was  more  than  enough  to  rouse  Winthrop, 
whose  sleep  was  not  so  deep  as  his  little  sister's.  And  when 
Winnie  did  come  to  her  consciousness  she  found  herself  lifted 
from  the  floor  and  on  her  brother's  lap ;  he  half  sitting  up ;  his 
arms  round  her,  and  her  head  still  on  his  breast.  Her  first  move- 
ment of  awakening  was  to  change  her  position  and  throw  her  arms 
around  his  neck. 

"  Winnie "  he  said  gently. 

The  flood-gates  burst  then,  and  her  heart  poured  itself  out , 
her  head  alternately  nestling  in  his  neck  and  raised  up  to  kiss  his 
face,  and  her  arms  straining  him  with  nervous  eagerness. 

"  0  Winthrop  ! — 0  Winthrop ! — 0  dear  Winthrop  ! — "  waa 
the  cry,  as  fast  as  sobs  and  kisses  would  let  her. 

"  Winnie — "  said  her  brother  again. 

"  0  Winthrop ! — why  didn't  you  come !  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  263 

He  did  not  answer  that,  except  by  the  heaving  breast  which 
poor  Winnie  could  not  feel. 

"  I  am  here  now,  dear  Winnie." 

"•  O  Winthrop  ! — "  Winnie  hesitated,  and  the  burden  of  her 
heart  would  burst  forth, "  why  aren't  you  a  Christian ! — " 

It  was  said  with  a  most  bitter  rush  of  tears,  as  if  she  felt  that 
the  most  precious  thing  she  had,  lacked  of  preciousness ;  that  her 
most  sure  support  needed  a  foundation.  But  when  a  minute  had 
stilled  the  tears,  and  she  could  hear,  she  heard  him  say,  very 
calmly, 

"  I  am  one,  Winnie." 

Her  tears  ceased  absolutely  on  his  shoulder,  and  Winnie  was 
for  a  moment  motionless.  Then  as  he  did  not  speak  again,  she 
unclasped  her  arms  and  drew  back  her  head  to  look  at  him.  The 
constant  flashes  of  light  gave  her  chance  enough. 

"  You  heard  me  right,"  he  said. 

"  Are  you  ?  " — she  said  wistfully. 

"  By  God's  help this  night  and  for  ever." 

Winnie  brought  her  hands  together,  half  clapping,  half  clasp- 
ing them,  and  then  threw  them  to  their  former  position  around 
his  neck,  exclaiming, — 

"  Oh  if  she  had  known  it  before — !  " 

There  was  no  answer  to  that,  of  words ;  and  Winnie  could  not 
see  the  sudden  paleness  which  witnessed  to  the  answer  within. 
But  it  came,  keen  as  those  lightning  flashes,  home-thrust  as  the 
thunderbolts  they  witnessed  to,  that  his  '  now '  had  come  too  late 
for  her. 

The  lightnings  grew  fainter,  and  failed — the  thunder  muttered 
off  in  the  distance,  and  ceased  to  be  heard — the  clouds  rolled  down 
the  river  and  scattered  away,  just  as  the  dawn  was  breaking  on  Wut- 
a-qut-o.  There  had  been  nothing  spoken  in  the  farmhouse  kitchen 
since  Winnie's  last  words.  Winthrop  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts,  which  he  did  not  tell ;  and  Winnie  had  been  giving  hers 
all  the  expression  they  could  bear,  in  tears  and  kisses  and  the 
strong  clasp  of  her  weak  arm,  and  the  envious  resting,  trusting, 
lay  of  her  head  upon  Winthrop's  shoulder  and  breast.  When  the 
glare  of  the  lightning  had  all  gone,  and  the  grey  light  was  begin- 
ning to  walk  in  at  the  windows,  her  brother  spoke  to  her. 

"  Winnie, — you  would  be  better  in  bed." 

"  Oh  no, — I  wouldn't. — Do  you  want  me  to  go,  Governor  ?  " 
she  added  presently. 

"  Not  if  you  could  rest  as  well  here,  but  you  want  rest,  Win- 
nie." 


264  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"I  couldn't  rest  so  well  anywhere!" — said  Winifred  ener 
getically. 

"  Then  let  me  take  the  big  chair  and  give  you  a  chance." 

He  took  it,  and  took  her  in  his  arms  again,  where  she  nestled 
herself  down  as  if  she  had  been  a  child ;  with  an  action  that 
touch  ingly  told  him  anew  that  she  could  rest  so  well  nowhere 
else. 

"  Governor — "  she  said,  when  her  head  had  found  its  place 
— "  you  haven't  kissed  me." 

"  I  did,  Winnie, — it  must  have  been  before  you.  were  awake." 

But  he  kissed  her  again;  and  drawing  one  or  two  long 
breaths,  of  heart-weariness  and  heart-rest,  Winnie  went  to  sleep. 

The  grey  dawn  brightened  rapidly ;  and  a  while  after,  Karen 
came  in.  It  was  fair  morning  then.  She  stood  by  fhe  hearth, 
opposite  the  two,  looking  at  them. 

"  Has  she  been  here  all  night  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Winthrop  nodded. 

"  Poor  lamb  ! — Ye're  come  in  good  time,  Master  Winthrop." 

She  turned  and  began  to  address  herself  to  the  long  gone-out 
fire  in  the  chimney. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Karen  ?  "  he  said  softly. 

She  looked  back  at  him,  with  her  hand  in  the  ashes. 

"  Haven't  you  watched  to-night  ?  " 

"  I've  watched  a  many  nights,"  she  said  shaking  her  head  and 
beginning  again  to  rake  for  coals  in  the  cold  fireplace, — "  this  aint 
the  first.  That  aint  nothin'.  I'll  watch  now,  dear,  '  till  the  day 
dawn  and  the  shadows  flee  away' ; — what  else  should  Karen  do  ? 
'Taint  much  longer,  and  I'll  be  where  there's  no  night  again.  0 
come,  sweet  day  ! — "  said  the  old  woman  clasping  her  hands  to- 
gether as  she  crouched  in  the  fireplace,  and  the  tears  beginning  to 
trickle  down, — "when  the  mother  and  the  childr'n'll  all  be 
together,  and  Karen  somewheres — and  our  home  won't  be  broken 
up  no  more  ! — " 

She  raked  away  among  the  ashes  with  an  eager  trembling 
hand. 

"  Karen, — "  said  Winthrop  softly, — "  Leave  that." 

"  What,  dear  ?  " — she  said. 

"  Leave  that." 

"Who'll  do  it,  dear?" 

"  I  will." 

She  obeyed  him,  as  perhaps  she  would  have  done  for  no  one 
else. .  Rising  up,  Winthrop  carried  his  sleeping  sister  without 
wakening  her,  and  laid  her  on  the  bed  in  her  own  little  room, 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMTC.  265 

which  opened  out  of  the  kitchen ;  then  he  came  back  and  went  to 
work  in  the  fireplace.  Karen  yielded  it  to  him  with  equal  admi- 
ration and  unwillingness;  remarking  to  herself  as  her  relieved 
hands  went  about  other  business,  that,  "  for  sure,  nobody  could 
build  a  fire  handsomer  than  Mr.  Winthrop" ; — and  that  "  he  was 
his  mother's  own  son,  and  deserved  to  be  1 " 
12 


CHAPTEK    XXV. 

That  thee  is  sent  receive  in  buxomness ; 
The  wrestling  of  this  worlde  askith  a  fall ; 
Here  is  no  home,  here  is  but  wildernesse, 
Forthe,  pilgrim,  forthe,  o  best  out  of  thy  stall, 
Loko  up  on  high,  and  thanke  thy  God  of  all. 

Chattceb. 

As  soon  as  she  was  awake  "Winnie  sought  her  brother's  side 
again ;  and  from  that  moment  never  left  it  when  it  was  possible 
to  be  there.  In  his  arms,  if  she  could ;  close  by  his  side,  if 
nearer  might  not  be ;  she  seemed  to  have  no  freedom  of  life  but 
in  his  shadow.  Her  very  grief  was  quieted  there  ;  either  taking 
its  tone  from  his  calm  strength,  or  binding  itself  with  her  own 
love  for  him.  Her  brother  was  the  sturdy  tree  round  which  this 
poor  little  vine  threw  its  tendrils,  and  climbed  and  nourished,  all 
it  could. 

He  had  but  a  few  days  to  spend  at  Shahweetah  now. 
Towards  the  end  of  them,  she  was  one  evening  sitting,  as  usual, 
on  his  knee ;  silent  and  quiet.     They  were  alone. 

"  Winnie,"  said  her  brother,  "  what  shall  I  do  with  you  ?  " 

She  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him, — a  very 
frequent  caress ;  but  she  made  no  answer. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  to  Mannahatta  with  me?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Winthrop !  " 

It  was  said  with  breathless  eagerness. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  to  do  it." 

"Why,  Winthrop?" 

"Hush — "  he  said  gently;  for  her  words  came  out  with  a 

sort  of   impatient  hastiness ; "  You    don't    know  what  kind 

of  a  place  it  is,  Winnie.  It  isn't  much  like  what  home  used  to 
be." 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTJC.  267 

"  Nor  this  aint,  neither,"  she  murmured,  nestling  her  head  in 
his  bosom. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  the  free  air  and  country — I  am 
afraid  it  wouldn't  be  so  good  for  you." 

"  Yes  it  would — it  would  be  better  for  me. — I  can't  hardly 
be  good  at  all.  Governor,  except  where  you  are.  I  get  cross 
now-a-days — it  seems  I  can't  help  it — and  I  didn't  use  to  do 
so " 

How  gently  the  hand  that  was  not  round  her  was  laid  upon 
her  cheek,  as  if  at  once  forbidding  and  soothing  her  sorrow. 
For  it  was  true, — Winnie's  disease  had  wrought  to  make  her  irri- 
table and  fretful,  very  different  from  her  former  self.  And  it 
was  true  that  Winthrop's  presence  governed  it,  as  no  other  thing 
could. 

"  Would  you  rather  go  with  me,  Winnie  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Governor  ! — oh  yes !  " 

"  Then  you  shall." 

He  went  himself  first  to  make  arrangements,  which  he  well 
knew  were  very  necessary.  That  one  little  attic  room  of  his 
and  that  closet  which  was  at  once  Mother  Hubbard's  cupboard 
and  his  clothes  press,  could  never  do  anything  for  the  comfort  of 
his  little  sister.  He  went  home  and  electrified  Mrs.  Nettley 
with  the  intelligence  that  he  must  leave  her  and  seek  larger 
quarters,  which  he  knew  her  house  could  not  give. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  in  a  brown  study, "  the 

kitchen's  the  kitchen, — and  there  must  be  a  parlour, — and 
George's  painting  room, — and  the  other's  my  bedroom, — and 
George  sleeps  in  that  other  little  back  attic. — Well,  Mr.  Land- 
holm,  let's  think  about  it.  We'll  see  what  can  be  done.  We 
can't  let  you  go  away — George  would  rather  sleep  on  the  roof." 

"  He  would  do  what  is  possible,  Mrs.  Nettley :  and  so  would 
I." 

It  was  found  to  be  possible  that  c  the  other  little  back  attic ' 
should  be  given  up.  Winthrop  never  knew  how,  and  was  not 
allowed  to  know.  But  it  was  so  given  that  he  could  not  help 
taking.  It  was  plain  that  they  would  have  been  worse  straitened 
than  in  their  accommodations,  if  he  had  refused  their  kindness 
and  gone  somewhere  else. 

.  Mrs.  Nettley  would  gladly  have  done  what  she  could  towards 
furnishing  the  same  little  back  attic  for  Winnie's  use ;  but  on 
this  point  Winthrop  was  .firm.  He  gathered  himself  the  few 
little  plain  things  the  room  wanted,  from  the  cheapest  sources 
whence  they  could  be  obtained ;  even  that  was  a  serious  drain 


268  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

upon  his  purse.  He  laid  in  a  further  supply  of  fuel,  for  Win- 
nie's health,  he  knew,  would  not  stand  the  old  order  of  things, — ■ 
a  fire  at  meal-times  and  an  old  cloak  at  other  times  when  it  was 
not  very  cold.  Happily  it  was  late  in  the  season  and  much  more 
fire  would  not  be  needed ;  a  small  stock  of  wood  he  bought,  and 
carried  up  and  bestowed  in  the  closet;  he  could  put  his  clothes 
in  Winnie's  room  now  and  the  closet  need  no  longer  act  as  a 
wardrobe.  A  few  very  simple  stores  to  add  to  Mother  Hub- 
bard's shelves,  and  Winthrop  had  stretched  his  limited  resources 
pretty  well,  and  had  not  much  more  left  than  would  take  him  to 
Wut-a-qut-o,  and  bring  him  back  again. 

"  I  don't  see  but  I  shall  have  to  sell  the  farm,'  jaid  Mr. 
Landholm  on  this  next  visit  of  his  son's. 

"Why,  sir?" 

"  To  pay  off  the  mortgage — that  mortgage  to  Mr.  Haye." 

Winthrop  was  silent. 

"  I  can't  meet  the  interest  on  it ; — I  haven't  been  able  to  pay 
any  these  five  years,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  with  a  sigh.     "  If  he 

don't  foreclose,  I  must. 1  guess  I'll  take  Asahel  and  go  to 

the  West." 

"  Don't  do  it  hastily,  father." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Landholm  with  another  sigh; — "but  it'll 
come  to  that." 

Winthrop  had  no  power  to  help  it.  And  the  money  had 
been  borrowed  for  him  and  Rufus.  Most  for  Rufus.  But  it 
h«*&  been  for  them ;  and  with  this  added  thought  of  sorrowful 
care,  he  reached  Mannahatta  with  his  little  sister. 

It  was  early  of  a  cold  spring  day,  the  ground  white  with  a 
flurry  of  snow,  the  air  raw,  when  he  brought  Winnie  from  the 
steamboat  and  led  her,  half  frightened,  half  glad,  through  the 
streets  to  her  new  home.  Winnie's  tongue  was  very  still,  her 
eyes  very  busy.  Her  brother  left  the  eyes  to  make  their  own 
notes  and  comments,  at  least  he  made  none,  till  they  had  reached 
the  corner  of  Little  South  St.  He  made  none  then ;  the  door 
was  opened  softly,  and  he  brought  her  up  the  stairs  and  into  his 
room  without  disturbing  or  falling  in  with  anybody.  Putting 
her  on  a  calico-covered  settee,  Winthrop  pulled  off  his  coat  and 
set  about  making  a  fire. 

Winnie  had  cried  all  the  day  before  and  as  much  of  the 
night  as  her  poor  eyelids  could  keep  awake ;  and  now  in  a  kind 
of  lull,  sat  watching  him. 

"  Governor,  you'll  catch  cold " 

"  Not  if  I  can  make  the  fire  catch,"  said  he  quietly 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  269 

"  But  you  wanted  me  to  keep  on  my  things." 

"  Did  you  want  to  take  them  off?  " 

Winnie  sat  silent  again,  shrugging  her  shoulders  to  the  chill 
air.  But  presently  the  fire  caught,  and  the  premonitory  snap- 
ping and  crackling  of  the  kindling  wood  gave  notice  of  a  sudden 
change  of  temperature.  Winnie's  feelings  took  the  cheery  influ- 
ence of  the  promise  and  she  began  to  talk  in  a  more  hearty 
strain. 

"  Is  this  your  room,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  room,  Winnie.     Yours  is  there,  next  to  it." 

"  Through  that  door  ?  " 

"No — through  the  entry; — that  is  the  door  of  my  store- 
house." 

Winnie  got  up  to  look  at  it. 

"  'Tisn't  a  very  large  storehouse,"  was  her  conclusion. 

"  And  not  much  in  it.  But  the  large  storehouses  are  not  far 
off,  Winnie.  Shall  I  leave  you  here  for  five  minutes,  while  I  go 
to  get  something  from  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  out  of  doors  ? — from  the  shops  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Shall  I  leave  you  five  minutes  ?  " 

"Oh  yes!" 

He  had  come  before  her  and  was  holding  both  her  hands. 
Before  he  let  them  go  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  her. 

It  was  not  a  very  common  thing  for  Winthrop  to  kiss  her ; 
and  Winnie  sat  quieted  under  the  power  and  the  pleasure  of  it 
till  the  five  minutes  were  run  out  and  he  had  got  back  again. 
His  going  and  coming  was  without  seeing  any  one  of  the  house ; 
a  fact  owing  to  Mrs.  Nettley's  being  away  to  market  and  Mr. 
Inchbald  out  on  another  errand. 

Winthrop  came  in  with  his  hands  full  of  brown  papers. 
Winnie  watched  him  silently  again  while  he  put  his  stores  in 
the  closet  and  brought  out  plates  and  knives  and  forks. 

"  Where  do  you  sleep,  Governor  ?  " 

"  In  a  pleasanter  place  than  I  slept  in  last  night,"  said  her 
brother. 

"  Yes,  bui  where  ?  I  don't  see  any  bed." 

"  You  don't  see  it  by  day.     It  only  shews  itself  at  night." 

"  But  where  is  it,  Governor  ?  " 

"  You're  sitting  on  it,  Winnie." 

"This!—" 

if  What  is  the  matter  with  it  ?  " 

"Why, — "  said  Winnie,  looking  dismayfully  at  the  couch 


270  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

with  which  Winthrop  had  filled  the  place  of  his  bed,  transferred 
to  her  room, — "  it's  too  narrow !  " 

"  I  don't  fall  out  of  it,"  said  her  brother  quietly. 

"  It  isn't  comfortable  !  " 

"  I  am,  when  I  am  on  it." 

"  But  it's  hard !  " 

"  Not  if  I  don't  think  it  is  hard." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  makes  any  difference,"  said  Winnie 
discontentedly.     "It's  hard  to  me." 

"  But  it's  not  your  bed,  Winnie." 

"  I  don't  like  it  to  be  yours,  Winthrop." 

He  was  busy  laying  a  slice  of  ham  on  the  coals  and  putting  a 
skillet  of  water  over  the  fire ;  and  then  coming  to  her  side  he 
began,  without  speaking,  and  with  a  pleasant  face,  to  untie  the 
strings  of  her  bonnet  and  to  take  off  that  and  her  other  cover- 
ings, with  a  gentle  sort  of  kindness  that  made  itself  felt  and  not 
heard.  Winnie  bore  it  with  difficulty ;  her  features  moved  and 
trembled. 

"  It's  too  much  for  you  to  have  to  take  care  of  me,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  changed  from  its  former  expression. 

"  Too  much  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

u  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  It's  too  much.     Can  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  "can  take  care  of  you,  Winnie.  You  forget  who 
has  promised  to  take  care  of  us  both." 

She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  exclaiming,  "  I  forget 
everything ! — " 

"  No,  not  quite,"  said  he. 

"I  do ! — except  that  I  love  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  good, 
Winthrop ! — even  as  good  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  That  wouldn't  content  me,'  said  her  brother ; — "  I  want 
you  to  be  better." 

She  clasped  her  arms  in  an  earnest  clasp  about  his  neck,  very 
close,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Now  sit  down,  Winnie,"  said  he  presently,  gently  disengag- 
ing her  arms  and  putting  her  into  a  chair, — u  or  something  else 
will  not  be  good  enough." 

She  watched  him  again,  while  he  turned  the  ham  and  put 
eggs  in  the  skillet,  and  fetched  out  an  odd  little  salt-cellar  and 
more  spoons  and  cups  for  the  eggs. 

"But  Winthrop!" — she  said  starting, — "where's  your  tea- 
kettle?" 


f 


THE.  HILLS    OF   THE    SHATEMUC.  271 

"  I  don't  know.     I  have  never  had  it  yet,  "Winnie." 

"  Never  had  a  tea-kettle  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Then  how  do  you  do,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  I  do  without,"  he  said  lightly.     "  Can't  you  ?  " 

"  Do  without  a  tea-kettle  !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  how  do  you  make  tea  and  coffee  ?  " 

"  I  don't  make  them." 

"  Don't  you  have  tea  and  coffeu  ?  " 

"No,  except  when  somebody  else  makes  it  for  me." 

"  I'll  make  it  for  you,  Winthrop  !  " 

"  No,  Winnie — I  don't  want  you  to  have  it  any  more  than 
myself." 

"  But  Winthrop — I  can't  drink  water  ! ' 

"  I  think  you  can — if  I  want  you  to." 

"  I  wonH"  was  in  Winnie's  heart  to  say ;  it  did  not  get  to 
her  lips.  With  a  very  disturbed  and  unsettled  face,  she  saw  her 
brother  quietly  and  carefully  supply  her  plate — the  ham  and  the 
eggs  and  the  bread  and  the  butter, — and  then  Winnie  jumped  up 
and  cmie  to  his  arms  to  cry;  the  other  turn  of  feeling  had 
come  again.  He  let  it  have  its  way,  till  she  had  wept  out  her 
penitence  and  kissed  her  acknowledgment  of  it,  and  then  she 
went  back  to  her  seat  and  her  plate  and  betook  herself  to  her 
breakfast.  Before  much  was  done  with  it,  however,  Mrs.  Net- 
tley  and  Mr.  Inchbald  came  to  the  door ;  and  being  let  in,  over- 
whelmed them  with  kind  reproaches  and  welcomes.  Winnie  was 
taken  down  stairs  to  finish  her  breakfast  with  tea  and  coffee ;  and 
Winthrop  leaving  her  in  hands  that  he  knew  would  not  forget 
their  care  of  her,  was  free  to  go  about  his  other  cares,  with  what 
diligence  they  might  require. 

That  same  morning,  before  she  had  left  her  own  room,  Miss 
Haye  was  informed  that  a  black  girl  wished  to  speak  with  her. 
Being  accordingly  ordered  up,  said  black  girl  presented  herself. 
A  comely  wench,  dressed  in  the  last  point  of  neatness,  though 
not  by  any  means  so  as  to  set  off  her  good  accidents  of  nature. 
Nevertheless  they  could  not  be  quite  hid ;  no  more  than  a  cer- 
tain air  of  abundant  capacity,  for  both  her  own  business  and 
other  people's.     She  came  in  and  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  am  Clam,  ma'am." 

"  Clam !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  0,  are  you  Clam?  Where  have 
you  come  from  ?  " 


272  THE   HILLS    OF   THE   SHATEMTJO. 

"  From  the  boat,  last  place,  ma'am." 

"Boat!  what  boat?" 

"  The  boat  what  goes  with  wheels  and  comes  down  the  river,' 
said  Clam  lucidly. 

"  Oh  ! — And  have  you  just  come  down  ?  " 

"  We  was  comin'  down  all  yesterday  and  last  night,  ma'am." 

"  Who  were  coming  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Winthrop  Landholm,  and  Winifred,  and  me." 

"Winifred  and  you,"  said  Elizabeth.  "And  did  he  send 
you  to  me  ?  " 

Clam  nodded.  "  He  said  he  wculd  ha'  writ  somethin',  if  he'd 
ha'  had  a  piece  of  paper  or  card  or  anything,  but  he  hadn't 
nothing."  A 

"  He  would  have  written  what  ?  " 

"  Don't  know — didn't  say." 

"  Do  you  know  who  lam?" 

Clam  nodded  again  and  shewed  her  teeth.  "  The  lady  Mr. 
Winthrop  sent  me  to." 

"  Do  you  remember  ever  seeing  me  before  ?  " 

"  When  he  was  out  walkin'  with  you  in  the  rain,"  said  Clam, 
her  head  first  giving  significant  assent. 

"Look  here,"  said  Elizabeth  a  little  shortly, — "when  I  speak 
to  you,  speak,  and  don't  nod  your  head." 

To  which  Clam  gave  the  prohibited  answer. 

"  What  are  you  sent  here  for  now  ?  " 

"  I  dun'  know,  ma'am." 

"What  did  Mr.  Winthrop  say  you  were  to  do ? " 

"  Said  I  was  to  come  here,  and  behave." 

"  Why  have  you  come  away  from  Mrs.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Didn't,"  said  Clam.  "  She  went  away  first.  She's  gone  to 
heaven." 

"  Mrs.  Landholm  !     Is  she  dead  ?  " 

Clam  nodded. 

"  When  ? — and  what  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  'Twa'n't   much   of    anything   the  matter  with   her,"   said 

Clam ; "  she    took    sick   for   two   or    three   days   and   then 

died.     It's  more'n  a  fortnight  ago." 

"  And  they  sent  for  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Job  Underhill  rode  down  after  him  as  hard  as  he  could  and 
fetched  him  up  on  horseback." 

"  In  time  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  He  was  in  time  for  everything  but  himself.  It  was  too  lato 
for  him.  But  all  the  rest  of  the  folks  had  the  good  of  his  com- 
ing." 


.- 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  273 

"Why  what  was  there  for  him  to  do?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  He  finds  enough  to  do — or  he's  pretty  apt  to — whenever  he 
comes  to  a  place,"  said  Clam.  "  There  was  everybody  to  put 
in  order,  about.  There  was  Mr.  Landholm  hardly  fit  to  live,  he 
was  so  willin'  to  die ;  and  Winifred  was  crazy.  She  went  and 
crawled  under  one  of  the  beds  to  hide  when  she  thought  he  was 
a  comin'." 

11  When  who  was  coming  ?  " 

"  He — Mr.  Winthrop.  And  Karen  was  takin'  airs — that 
aint  out  o'  the  common — but  I'd  a  little  liever  have  him  master 
than  her  mistress — she  wa'n't  mine,  neither." 

"  And  where  was  Mr.  Asahel  ?  " 

"  He  was  there         and  good  enough  what  there  was  of  him ; 
t  he  won't  never  stand  in  other  folks'  shoes." 

"  Do  you  say  Winifred  was  crazy  ?  " 

"  She  was  so  feared  to  see  her  brother  come  home." 

"  Her  brother  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  There  wa'n't  no  other  coming,"  said  Clam. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  And  you  say  he  has  brought 
her  down  to  Mannahatta  ?  " 

Clam  nodded.  "  She  don't  think  she's  alive  when  he  aint 
near  her ;  so  he's  took  her  down  to  live  with  him.  I  guess  it's 
good  living  with  him,"  said  Clam  sagaciously.  "  I  wish  I  did 
it." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  her.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  She's  wherever  he's  took  her  to." 

"  But  where's  that  ? — don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  It's  to  his  house — if  you  know  where  that  is." 

"  Do  you  know  what  you've  come  here  to  do  ?  "  said  Eliza- 
beth after  a  slight  pause 

Clam  shook  her  head. 

"  One  thing  I  can  tell  you,  first  of  all,"  said  Elizabeth, — 
'•  it  is  to  mind  what  I  say  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Winthrop  said  I  was  to  behave,"  said  Clam  with  another 
glimpse  of  her  white  teeth. 

"  Then  don't  shake  your  head  any  more  when  I  speak  to  you. 
What  have  you  been  doing  at  Wut-a-qut-o  ?  " 

"  At  Wuttle-quttle  ?  "  said  Clam. 

"  At  Wut-a-qut-o.     What  did  you  do  there  ?  " 

"  'Tain't  the  name  of  the  place,"  said  Clam.  "  They  call  it 
Shah-wee-tah." 

"  Wut-a-qut-o  is  the   name  of  the   mountain — it's   all   one. 
What  have  "*Tou  been  used  to  do  there  ?  " 
12* 


V, 


274  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Set  tables — "  said  Clam  considerately. 

"  What  did  Mrs.  Landholm  teach  you  ?  " 

"  She  learned  me  'most  everything,"  said  Clam.  '  What  she 
learned  me  most  of  all,  was  to  have  me  read  the  Bible  every 
day,  and  do  nothin'  wrong  o'  Sundays,  and  never  say  nothin' 
that  wa'n't." 

"That  wasn't  what?" 

" That  wa'n't  it"  said  Clam.  " Never  to  say  nothin'  that 
wa'n't  the  thing." 

"  Why,  did  you  ever  do  that  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Maybe  I  did,"  said  Clam,  considering  her  new  mistress's 
dressing-table.     "  Mis'  Landholm  was  afeard  on't." 

"  Well  you  must  be  just  as  careful  about  that  here,"  said* 
Elizabeth.     "  I  love  truth  as  well  as  she  did." 

"  All  kinds  ?  "   said  the  girl. 

Elizabeth  looked  at  her,  with  a  mouthful  of  answer  which  she 
did  not  dare  to  bring  out.  Nothing  was  to  be  made  of  Clam's 
face,  except  that  infallible  air  of  capacity.  There  was  no  sign 
of  impertinent  meaning. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  could  learn,"  she  said. 

"  Been  learnin'  ever  since  I  was  big  enough,"  said  the  blacl 
girl.     And  she  looked  so. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  learn  ?  " 

"  Like  nothin'  better." 

"Provided  it's  the  right  kind,  I  suppose,"  said  Elizabeth, 
wholly  unable  to  prevent  her  features  giving  way  a  little  at  the 
unshakable  coolness  and  spirit  she  had  to  do  with.  Clam's 
face  relaxed  in  answer,  after  a  different  manner  from  any  it  had 
taken  during  the  interview;   and  she  said, 

"  Well  I'll  try.  Mr.  Winthrop  said  I  was  to  be  good ;  and  I 
ain't  a  goin'  to  do  nothin'  to  displease  him,  anyhow  !  " 

"  But  the  matter  is  rather  to  please  me,  here,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Well,"  said  Clam  with  her  former  wide-awake  smile,  "  I 
guess  what'll  please  him'll  please  you,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Go  down  stairs,  and  come  to  me  after  breakfast,"  said  her 
mistress.  "  I'll  let  you  make  some  new  dresses  for  yourself  the 
first  thing.  And  look  here, "  said  she  pulling  a  bright- 
coloured  silk  handkerchief  out  of  a  drawer, — "  put  that  into  a 
turban  before  you  come  up  and  let  me  see  what  you're  up  to." 

Clam  departed  without  an  answer ;  but  when  she  made  her 
appearance  again,  the  orange  and  crimson  folds  were  twisted 
about  her  head  in  a  style  that  convinced  Elizabeth  her  new  wait- 
ing-maid's capacity  was  equal  to  all  the  new  demands  she  would 
be  likely  to  make  upon  it. 


#* 


CHAPTER    XXYI 


Never  his  worldly  lot,  or  worldly  state  torments  him  : 
Less  he  would  like,  if  less  his  God  had  sent  him. 

Fletcher. 


Winthrop  had  taken  no  little  charge  upon  himself  in  the 
charge  of  his  little  sister.  In  many  ways.  He  had  a  scanty 
purse,  and  it  better  bore  the  demands  of  one  than  of  two ;  but 
that  was  only  a  single  item.  Winnie  was  not  a  charge  upon  his 
purse  alone,  but  upon  his  heart  and  his  head  and  his  time.  The 
demands  were  all  met,  to  the  full. 

As  much  as  it  was  possible,  in  the  nature  of  "VVinthrop's  busi- 
ness, his  sister  had  him  with  her ;  and  when  he  could  not  be  there 
his  influence  and  power.  It  was  trying  enough  for  the  poor  chih? 
to  be  left  alone  as  much  as  she  was,  for  she  could  not  always  find 
solace  in  Mrs.  Nettley,  and  sometimes  could  not  endure  her  pre- 
sence. Against  this  evil  Winthrop  provided  as  far  as  he  might 
by  giving  Winnie  little  jobs  to  do  for  him  while  he  was  gone,  and 
by  setting  her  about  what  courses  of-  self- improvement  her 
delicate  system  of  mind  and  body  was  able  to  bear.  He  managed 
it  so  that  all  was  for  him ;  not  more  the  patching  and  knitting 
and  bits  of  writing  which  were  strictly  in  his  line,  than  the  pages 
of  history,  the  sums  in  arithmetic,  and  the  little  lesson  of  Latin, 
which  were  for  Winnie's  own  self.  He  knew  that  affection,  in 
every  one  of  them,  would  steady  the  nerves  and  fortify  the  will 
to  go  patiently  on  to  the  end.  And  the  variety  of  occupation  he 
left  her  was  so  great  that  without  tiring  herself  in  any  one  thing, 
Winnie  generally  found  the  lonely  hours  of  her  day  pretty  well 
filled  up.  Mrs.  Nettley  was  a  great  help,  when  Winnie  was  in 
the  mood  for  her  company ;  that  was  not  always. 

His  little  sister's  bodily  and  mental  health  was  another  care 


276      .  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

upon  Winthrop's  mind,  and  on  his  time.  Disease  now  constantly 
ruffled  the  sweet  flow  of  spirits  which  once  was  habitual  with  her 
Nothing  ruffled  his ;  and  his  soothing  hand  could  always  quiet 
her,  could  almost  always  make  her  happy,  when  it  was  practi- 
cable for  him  to  spare  time.  Very  often  when  he  had  no  time  to 
give  beyond  what  a  word  or  a  look  would  take  from  his  business. 
But  those  times  were  comparatively  few.  He  was  apt  to  give 
her  what  she  needed,  and  make  up  for  it  afterwards  at  the  cost  of 
rest  and  sleep  when  Winnie  was  abed.  Through  the  warm  sum- 
mer days  he  took  her  daily  and  twice  daily  walks,  down  to  the 
Green  where  the  sea  air  could  blow  in  her  face  fresh  from  its  own 
quarter,  where  she  and  he  too  could  turn  their  backs  upon  brick- 
work and  pavement  and  look  on  at  least  one  face  of  nature 
unspotted  and  unspoiled.  At  home  he  read  to  her,  and  with  her, 
the  times  when  he  used  to  read  the  classics;  and  many  other 
times ;  he  talked  to  her  and  he  played  with  her,  having  bought  a 
second-hand  backgammon  board  for  the  very  purpose ;  he  heard 
her  and  set  her  her  lessons  ;  and  he  amused  her  with  all  the  de- 
tails of  his  daily  business  and  experience  that  he  could  make 
amusing. 

If  these  things  were  a  charge,  it  was  one  for  which  he  was 
abundantly  rewarded,  every  night  and  every  morning,  and  knew 
it.  But  the  other  part  of  the  burden,  the  drain  upon  his  purse, 
was  not  so  easily  to  be  met  withal.  There  was  no  helping  it. 
Winnie's  state  of  health  made  her  simple  wants,  simple  as  they 
were,  far  more  costly  than  his  own  had  been;  and  he  would  and  did 
supply  them.  He  could  bear  to  starve  himself  and  lie  hard ;  but 
Winnie  would  very  soon  starve  to  death ;  and  the  time  when  she 
could  sleep  softly  on  a  hard  bed  had  once  been,  but  would  never 
be  again,  literally  or  figuratively.  Winthrop  never  shewed  her 
how  it  was  with  him ;  not  the  less  it  was  almost  the  ebb ;  and 
whence  the  flow  was  to  come,  was  a  point  he  saw  not.  He  was 
not  yet  admitted  tc  practise  law;  his  slender  means  were  almost 
all  gathered  from  teaching;  and  he  could  not  teach  any  more 
than  he  did.  And  this  consciousness  he  carried  about  with  him, 
to  the  office,  to  market,  and  to  his  little  sister's  presence.  For 
her  his  face  was  always  the  same ;  and  while  she  had  it  Winnie 
thought  little  was  wanting  to  her  life. 

One  morning  when  she  had  it  not,  she  was  lying  wearily 
stretched  out  on  the  couch  which  was  hers  by  day  and  Winthrop's 
by  night.  It  was  early  June  ;  the  sun  was  paying  his  first  instal- 
ment of  summer  heat,  and  doing  it  as  if  he  were  behind-hand  with 
pay-day.     Winnie's  attic  roof  gave  her  a  full  share  of  his  benefits 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.  277 

The  Lours  of  the  morning  had  worn  away,  when  towards  noon  a 
slow  step  was  heard  ascending  the  stairs.  It  was  her  hostess, 
come  up  to  look  after  her. 

"  All  alone  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley. 

"  Oh  yes ! — "  came  with  most  fervent  breath  from  Winnie. 
Her  head  uneasily  turned  the  other  cheek  to  the  pillow. 

"  Poor  child ! "  said  Mrs.  Nettley ;  and  every  line  of  her 
careful  and  sympathetic  face  said  it  over  again.  "  Poor  child  ! — 
And  Mr.  Winthrop's  been  away  all  the  morning !  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  call  me  poor,"  said  Wmnie,  whose 
nerves  could  not  hear  even  that  slight  touch  .'f  it  happened  to 
touch  the  wrong  way ; — "  Of  course  he's  been  away  all  the  morn- 
ing— he  always  is." 

"  And  you're  tired.  I  didn't  mean  poor,  dear,  in  the  way 
that  I  am  poor  myself; — not  that  poor, — I  only  meant,  because 
you  were  so  much  here  all  alone  without  your  brother." 

"  I  know  what  you  meant,"  said  Winnie. 

"  It's  hot  up  here,  isn't  it,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  going  to  the 
window.  "  Dreadful.  It's  hot  down  stairs  too.  Can't  we  let  a 
little  air  in  ?  " 

"  Don't !    It's  hotter  with  it." 

Mrs.  Nettley  left  the  window  and  came  and  stood  by  Winnie's 
couch,  her  face  again  saying  what  her  voice  did  not  dare  to  say, 
— "  Poor  child  !  "— 

"  Mrs.  Nettley " 

"  What,  my  love  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  cross- 


No  you  aren't,  my  love  !   you're  only  tired." 
"  I'm  very  cross — I  don't  know  what  makes  me  so — but  some- 
times I  feel  so  it  ssems  as  if  I  couldn't  help  it.  I'm  cross  even  to 
Winthrop.    I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  but  you  must  think  I 
aint." 

"  I  don't  think  the  least  thing  of  the  kind,  dearest — I  know 
it's  miserable  and  suffocating  up  here,  and  you  canH  feel — I  wish 
I  could  make  it  better  for  you !  " 

"  0  it'll  be  better  by  and  by — when  Governor  gets  home  and 
it  grows  cool." 

"  Come  down  and  take  a  bit  of  dinner  with  me." 

"  0  no,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Nettley,"  said  Winnie  brightening 

up, "  I  don't  want  anything ;  and  Governor  '11  be  home  by  and 

by  and  then  we'll  have  our  dinner.     I'm  going  to  broil  the  chicken 
and  get  everything  ready." 


278  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  Well,  that  '11  be  sweeter  than  anything  I've  got,"  said  the 
good  lady. — "  Why,  who's  there  ? " 

Somebody  there  was,  knocking  at  the  door;  and  when  the 
door  was  opened,  who  was  there  shewed  herself  in  the  shape  of  a 
young  lady,  very  bright  looking  and  well  dressed.  She  glanced 
at  Mrs.  Nettley  with  a  slight  word  of  inquiry  and  passing  her 
made  her  way  on  up  to  the  couch. 

"  Is  this  Winifred  ?  "  she  paid,  looking,  it  might  be,  a  little 
shocked  and  a  little  sorrowful  at  the  pale  and  mind-worn  face  that 
used  to  be  so  round  and  rosy ;  and  about  which  the  soft  fair  hair 
still  clustered  as  abundantly  as  ever. 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  Winifred  said,  half  rising. 

"  Don't  get  up, — don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

Winnie's  eye  keenly  scanned  the  bright  fresh  face  that  bejit 
over  her,  but  she  shook  her  head  and  said  '  no '. 

"  Can't  you  remember  my  being  at  your  house — some  time 

ago  ? — me  and  " she  stopped.     "  Don't  you  remember  ?     We 

spent  a  good  while  there — one  summer — it  was  when  you  were  a 
little  girl." 

"  0 !  " — said  Winnie, — "  are  you " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  remember.     But  you  were  not  so  large  then,  either." 

"  I  am  not  very  large  now,"  said  her  visiter,  taking  a  chair 
beside  Winnie's  couch. 

"  No.     But  I  didn't  know  you." 

"  How  eta  you  do,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Winnie.  "  I  am  not  very  well  nowa- 
days." 

"  And  Mannahatta  is  hot  and  dusty  and  disagreeable — mor* 
than  any  place  you  ever  ware  in  before  in  your  life,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Winnie.     "  I'd  rather  be  with  Winthrop." 

"  And  can  he  raake  up  for  dust  and  heat  and  bad  air  and 
all?" 

The  smile  that  broke  upon  Winnie's  face  Elizabeth  remem- 
bered was  like  that  of  old  time ;  there  was  a  sparkle  in  the  eyes 
that  looked  up  at  her,  the  lips  had  their  childish  play,  and  the 
thin  cheek  even  shewed  its  dimple  again.  As  she  met  the  look, 
Elizabeth's  own  face  grew  grave  and  her  brow  fell ;  and  it  was 
half  a  minute  before  she  spoke. 

"  But  he  cannot  be  with  you  a  great  deal  of  the  time." 

"  0  yes  he  is,"  said  Winnie ; — "  he  is  here  in  the  morning, 
and  at  breakfast  and  dinner  and  tea,  and  all  the  evening.  And 
all  Sundays." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  279 

£  That's  the  best  day  of  the  week  then,  I  suppose." 

"It's  always  that,"  said  Winnie.  "And  he  takes  a  great 
many  walks  with  me — every  day  almost,  when  it  gets  cool— 
we  go  down  on  the  Green  and  stay  there  as  long  as  it's  plea- 
sant." 

Elizabeth  was  silent  again. 

"  But  doesn't  he  have  studying  or  writing  to  do  in  the  even 
ings?     I  thought  he  had." 

"  0  yes,"  said  Winnie,  "  hut  then  it  don^t  hinder  him  from 
talking  to  me." 

"  And  is  he  good  enough  to  make  you  like  this  place  better 
than  your  beautiful  country  home  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  be  here,"  said  Winnie.  But  she  turned  her 
face  a  little  from  her  questioner,  and  though  it  remained  perfectly 
calm,  the  eyes  filled  to  overflowing.  Elizabeth  again  paused, 
and  then  bending  over  her  where  she  still  lay  on  her  couch,  she 
pressed  her  own  full  red  lips  to  Winnie's  forehead.  The  salute 
was  instantly  returned  upon  one  of  her  little  kid  gloves  which 
Winnie  laid  hold  of. 

"  You  don't  know  how  rich  you  are,  Winifred,  to  have  such 
a  good  brother." 

"  Yes  I  do,"  said  Winifred.     "  You  don't." 

If  there  was  not  a  rush  to  Elizabeth's  eyes,  it  was  because 
she  fought  for  it. 

"  Perhaps  I  don't,"  she  said  quietly; — "for  I  never  had  any 
one.     Will  you  go  and  ride  with  me  to-morrow,  Winifred  ?  " 

"  Ride  ?  "  said  Winifred. 

"  Yes.     In  my  carriage.     We'll  go  out  of  town." 

"  0  yes  !     0  thank  you !     I  should  like  it  very  much." 
You  don't  look  very  strong,"  said  Elizabeth.     "  How  is  it 
that  you  can  take  such  long  walks  ?  " 

"  0  Winthrop  don't  let  me  get  tired  you  know." 

"  But  how  does  he  manage  to  help  it  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  smiling. 
"  Can  he  do  everything  ?  "  • 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Winnie.  "He  don't  let  me  stand  too 
long,  and  he  doesn't  let  me  walk  too  fast ;  and  his  arm  is  strong, 
you  know; — he  can  almost  hold  me  up  if  I  do  get  tired." 

"  I  have — or  my  father  has," — said  Elizabeth,  "  some  very 
old,  very  good  wine. — I  shall  send  you  some.  Will  you  try  it  t 
I  think  it  would  make  you  stronger." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  Winthrop  would  let  me  drink  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  0  he  don't  like  me  to  drink  anything  but  water  and  milk 


280  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

— he  don't  let  me  have  tea  or  coffee — and  I  don't  know  whether 
he'd  like  wine; — but  I'll  ask  him." 

"  Don't  let  you  have  tea  or  coffee  !  " 

44  No ;  we  drink  milk,  and  water." 

"  But  don't  he  let  you  do  whatever  you  have  a  mind  ?  " 

" No,"  said  Winnie;  "  and  I  don't  want  to,  either." 

'*  Don't  want  to  do  what  ?  " 

44  Why anything  that  he  don't  like." 

44  Do  you  love  him  well  enough  for  that not  to  wish  to  do 

what  he  don't  like,  Winifred  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  said  Winifred.  "  I  think  I  do.  I  may  wish  it  at 
first,  of  course;  but  I  don't  want  to  do  it  if  he  wishes  me  not." 

"  How  did  he  ever  get  such  power  over  you ! " 

"  Power !  "  said  Winnie,  raising  herself  up  on  her  elbow, — 
41  why  I  don't  know  what  you  mean !  1  should  think  everybody 
would  do  what  Winthrop  likes — it  isn't  power." 

44  I  wonder  what  is,  then !  "  said  Elizabeth  significantly. 

44  Why  it's it's goodness !  "  said  Winnie,  shutting  her 

eyes,  but  not  before  they  had  filled  again.  Elizabeth  bit  her  lips 
to  keep  her  own  from  following  company ;  not  with  much  success. 

"That's  what  it  is,"  said  Winnie,  without  opening  her  eyes; 
— "  he  always  was  just  so.  No  he  wasn't  either, — though  it  al- 
most seems  as  if  he  was, — but  now  he's  a  Christian." 

If  outward  signs  had  kept  inward  feelings  company,  Elizabeth 
would  have  started.  She  sat  still ;  but  the  lines  of  her  face  wore 
a  look  of  something  very  like  startled  gravity.  There  was  a 
silence  of  more  than  one  minute.  Winnie  opened  her  eyes  and 
directed  them  upon  her  still  companion. 

"  Is  he  any  better  than  he  used  to  be  ?  "  she  forced  herself 
to  say. 

"  Why  yes,"  said  Winnie, — "  of  course — he  must  be.  He 
used  to  be  as  good  as  he  could  be,  except  that ; — and  now  he's 
that  too." 

"•What  difference  does  Hhat'  make,  Winifred  ?  " 

Winnie  looked  keenly  once  more  at  the  face  of  her  questioner. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  Christian,  Miss  Haye  ?  " 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head. 

"  You  must  ask  Winthrop,"  said  Winnie.  "  He  can  tell  you 
better  than  I  can." 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me.  What  difference,  for  instance,  has  it 
made  in  your  brother  ?  " 

Winnie  looked  grave  and  somewhat  puzzled. 

"  He  don't  seem  much  different  to  me  "  she  said, — "  and  yet 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  *      281 

lie  is  different. — The  difference  is,  Miss  Haye,  that  before,  he 
loved  us — and  now  he  loves  God  and  keeps  his  commandments." 

"  Don't  he  love  you  now  ?  " 

"  Better  than  ever !  "  said  Winnie  with  her  eyes  opening ; — • 
"  why  what  makes  you  ask  that  ?  " 

"  Didn't  he  keep  the  commandments  of  the  Bible  before  ?  " 

u  No, — not  as  he  does  now.  Some  of  them  he  did,  because 
he  never  was  bad  as  some  people  are ; — but  he  didn't  keep  them 
as  he  does  now.     He  didn't  keep  the  first  commandment  of  all." 

"  Which  is  that  ?»  said  Elizabeth. 

Winnie  gave  her  another  earnest  look  before  she  answered. 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"  No." 

" £  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart, 
and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy 
strength.' " 

If  Winifred's  face  was  grave,  Elizabeth's  took  a  double  shade 
of  gravity — it  was  even  dark  for  a  minute,  as  if  with  some  thought 
that  troubled  her.  Winnie's  eyes  seemed  to  take  note  of  it,  and 
Elizabeth  roused  herself.     Yet  at  first  it  was  not  to  speak. 

"  When — How  long  ago,  do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  "  your 
brother  was  changed  in  this  way  ?  " 

a  Since — since  the  time  I  came  here  ; — since  mother  died," 
Winnie  said  softly. 

There  was  again  a  few  minutes  of  absolute  silence ;  and  then 
Elizabeth  rose  to  go. 
.  "  Shall  I  send  you  the  wine  ?  "  she  said  smiling. 

"I  don't  believe  Winthrop  will  let  me  take  it,"  Winifred 
said. 

*  Because  he  is  good,  are  you  bound  not  to  get  strong  ?  " 
Elizabeth  said  with  an  air  of  slight  vexation. 

"  No," — said  Winnie,  "  but  because  he  is  good  I  must  do 
what  he  says." 

"  I  wish  I  liked  anybody  so  well  as  that !  "  said  Elizabeth 
kissing  her.  "  Good  bye,  dear, — I'll  come  for  you  to-morrow, 
There's  no  objection  to  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,"  Winnie  said  laughing ;  and  they  parted. 

Five  minutes  Winnie  was  alone,  thinking  over  her  visit  and 
visiter.  They  were  a  great  novelty,  and  very  interesting.  Win- 
nie's thoughts  roved  with  an  odd  mixture  of  admiration  and  pity 
over  the  beautiful  dress,  and  fine  face,  and  elastic  step ;  they  were 
bewitching ;  but  Winnie  had  seen  a  shadow  on  the  face,  and  she 
knew  that  the  best  brightness  had  never  lighted  it.    Five  minutes 


282       •  THE  HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUO. 

were  all  she  had  to  think  about  it ;  then  she  heard  a  very  dif- 
ferent step  on  the  stairs. 

"  I  heard  her  go,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley,  coming  in,  "  and  I  had 
a  little  more  time  to  spare ;  so  I  thought  I  would  spend  it  with 
you ; — unless  you've  got  enough  with  such  a  gay  visiter  and  don't 
want  me." 

"  O  no  indeed,  Mrs.  Nettley,  I  want  you  just  as  much.  Have 
you  done  dinner  ?  " 

"  George  isn't  ready  yet ;  "  and  Mrs.  Nettley  took  Miss 
Haye's  chair  and  set  her  knitting-needles  a  going.  "  Has  she 
tired  you  with  talking  ?  " 

"  No — talking  doesn't  tire  me, — and  she  wasn't  a  gay  visiter, 
either,  Mrs.  Nettley — what  do  you  mean  hy  '  gay '  ?  " 

"  0,  she  was  handsome,  and  young,  and  '  fine  feathers  make 
fine  birds '  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley ; — "  wasn't  she  smartly 
dressed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Winnie,  "  she  had  handsome  things  on ;  but 
that  didn't  make  her  gay." 

"Well  that  was  what  I  meant.  How  do  you  like  that 
young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Winnie.     "  I  think  I  like  her." 

"  This  isn't  the  first  of  your  seeing  her,  dear  !  " 

"  0  no — she  was  at  our  house  once.  I've  seen  her  before, 
but  that  was  a  great  while  ago.  I  didn't  know  her  again  at 
first." 

"  Then  she  remembered  you  best." 

"  0 — "  said  Winnie,  considering, — "  she  has  seen  Rufus  ana 
Winthrop  since  then." 

"  She's  a  handsome  young  lady,  don't  you  think  so  ? 

"  I  don't  know — "  said  Winnie. 

"  Ask  }our  brother  if  he  don't  think  so.' 

"Why?" 

"  See  if  he  don't  think  so." 

"  Which  brother  ?  " 

"  Your  brother  that's  here — your  brother  Winthrop." 

"  Does  he  think  she  is  ?  " 

"  Ask  him,"  repeated  Mrs.  Nettley. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  ask  him,"  said  Winnie  turning 
over  uneasily  on  her  couch ; — M  I  don't  care  if  she  is  or  no." 

"  Ay,  but  you  might  care." 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  said  Winnie. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  a  new  sister  one  of  these 
days  ? — by  and  by  F  " 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  *    283 

"A  sister?" 

Mrs.  Nettley  nodded. 

"  A  sister !  "  said  Winnie.     "  How  should  I  have  a  sister  ?  " 

"  "Why  such  a  thing  might  be,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley.  "  Did 
you  never  think  of  one  of  your  brothers  getting  married  ?  " 

11  Winthrop  won't !  "  said  Winnie, — "  and  I  don't  care  what 
Rufus  does." 

"  Wnat  makes  you  think  Winthrop  won't  ?  " 

"  He  won't!  "  said  Winnie  with  flushing  cheeks. 

"Wouldn't  you  be  glad?  You  would  like  anything  that 
would  make  him  happy." 

"  Happy  !  "  said  Winnie. — "  Glad  ! — I  do  wish,  Mrs.  Nettley, 
you  would  go  down  stairs  and  leave  me  alone !  " 

Mrs.  Nettley  went  away,  in  some  astonishment.  And  before 
her  astonishment  had  cooled  off  in  her  own  kitchen,  down  came 
Winnie,  with  flushed  cheeks  still,  and  watery  eyes,  and  a  dis- 
tressed face,  to  beg  Mrs.  Nettley's  forgiveness.  It  was  granted 
with  her  whole  heart,  and  a  burden  of  apologies  besides ;  but 
Winnie's  face  remained  a  distressed  face  still.  The  chicken, 
broiled  on  Mrs.  Nettley's  fire,  was  salted  with  some  tears ;  and 
all  the  simple  and  careful  preparations  for  Winthrop's  dinner 
were  made  more  carefully  than  usual;  but  when  Winthrop 
came  home,  his  little  sister  was  as  far  from  being  herself  as 
ever. 

It  happened  that  Winthrop  was  very  busy  that  day  and  had 
no  time  to  talk,  except  the  disjointed  bits  of  talk  that  could  come 
between  the  joints  of  the  chicken ;  and  pleasant  as  those  bits 
were,  they  could  not  reach  the  want  of  poor  Winnie's  heart. 
Immediately  after  dinner  Winthrop  went  out  again  ;  and  sh© 
was  left  to  get  through  the  afternoon  without  help  of  any- 
body. 

It  had  worn  on,  and  the  long  summer  day  was  drawing  to  its 
close,  when  Winthrop  was  at  last  set  free  from  his  business  en- 
gagements and  turned  his  face  and  his  footsteps  towards  home. 
The  day  had  been  sultry  and  his  toil  very  engrossing ;  but  that 
was  not  the  reason  his  footsteps  flagged.  They  flagged  rarely, 
but  they  did  it  now.  It  needed  not  that  he  should  have  noticed 
his  little  sister's  face  at  dinner ;  his  ordinary  burdens  of  care 
were  quite  enough  and  one  of  them  just  now  pressing.  In  a  sort 
of  brown  study  he  was  slowly  pacing  up  one  of  the  emptying 
business  streets,  when  his  hand  was  seized  by  some  one,  and 
Winthrop's  startled  look  up  met  the  round  jocund  well-to-do  face 
of  the  German  professor. 


284  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC. 

"  Wint'rop ! — Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Home,  sir,  "—said  Winthrop  returning  the  grasp  of  his 
friend's  hand. 

"  How  is  all  wiz  you  ?  " 

"  As  usual,  sir." 

"  Wint'rop — what  is  de  matter  wiz  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing ! — "  said  Winthrop. 

"  I  know  better !  "  said  the  naturalist, — "  and  I  know  what 
it  is,  too.  Here — I  will  give  you  some  work  to  do  one  of  these 
days  and  then  I  will  pay  you  the  rest." 

And  shaking  Winthrop's  hand  again,  the  philosopher  dashed 
on.  But  Winthrop's  hand  was  not  empty  when  his  friend's  had 
quitted  it ;  to  his  astonishment  he  found  a  roll  of  bills  left  in  it, 
and  to  his  unbounded  astonishment  found  they  were  bills  to  the 
amount  of  three  hundred  dollars. 

If  he  was  in  any  sort  of  a  study  as  he  paced  the  rest  of  his 
way  home,  it  was  not  a  brown  study ;  and  if  his  steps  were  slow, 
it  was  not  that  they  flagged  any  more.  It  had  come  in  time ;  it 
was  just  what  was  needed ;  and  it  was  enough  to  keep  him  on,  till 
he  should  be  admitted  to  the  bar  and  might  edge  off  his  craft 
from  her  moorings  to  feel  the  wind  and  tide  l  that  lead  on  to  for- 
tune.' Winthrop  never  doubted  of  catching  both ;  as  little  did 
he  doubt  now  of  being  able  some  time  to  pay  back  principal  and 
interest  to  his  kind  friend.  He  went  home  with  a  lighter  heart. 
But  he  had  never  let  Winnie  know  of  his  troubles,  and  could  not 
for  the  same  reason  talk  to  her  of  this  strange  relief. 

Thinking  so,  he  went  up  the  stairs  and  opened  the  door  of  his 
and  her  sitting-room.  The  sun  was  down  by  that  time,  and  the 
evening  light  was  failing.  The  table  stood  ready  for  tea;  Winnie 
had  all  the  windows  open  to  let  in  the  freshening  air  from  the  sea, 
which  was  beginning  to  make  head  against  the  heats  and  steams 
of  the  city ;  herself  sat  on  the  couch,  away  from  the  windows,  and 
perhaps  her  attitude  might  say,  away  from  everything  pleasant. 
Winthrop  came  silently  up  and  put  a  little  basket  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh ! — "  Winnie  sprang  forward  with  an  accent  of  joy, — 
"  Strawberries ! — Beautiful ! — and  so  sweet !  0  Winthrop,  aren't 
they  sweet! — how  good  they  will  be." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he.     "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  0 — I'm  well,"  said  Winnie.  "  How  big  they  are — and 
fresh.     They  do  smell  so  sweet,  don't  they,  Governor  ?  " 

Winthrop  thought  they  were  not  so  fresh  nor  so  sweet  as 
those  which  grew  in  the  Bright  Spot  under  Wut-a-qut-o ;  but  he 
didn't  remind  Winnie  of  that.     He  smiled  at  her,  as  she  was 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  285 

picking  over  her  basket  of  strawberries  with  an  eager  hand.  Yet 
when  Winnie  had  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  basket  and  looked  up 
at  him  his  face  was  very  grave  indeed. 

"  There's  plenty  for  you  and  me,  Governor,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  her  brother. 

"  There  is  plenty,  Winthrop  !  " 

"  There  is  only  just  enough  for  you,  and  you  must  prove  that 
by  eating  them  all." 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  some  for  yourself,  Governor  !  " 

He  answered  that  by  spreading  for  her  a  particularly  nice 
piece  of  bread  and  butter  and  laying  it  on  her  plate  alongside  of 
the  strawberries.  Winnie  took  it  in  the  same  pleasant  mood  and 
began  upon  both  with  great  zeal ;  but  before  she  had  got  half 
through  the  strawberries  something  seemed  to  come  over  her 
recollection ;  and  the  latter  part  of  the  meal  her  face  grew  more 
shadowy  than  the  growing  evening.  When  it  was  over,  Win- 
throp placed  her  gently  on  the  couch,  and  himself  put  away  the 
dishes  and  glasses  and  eatables  from  the  table.  Then  he  came  and 
sat  down  beside  her  and  drew  her  head  to  lean  upon  him.  It 
was  darkening  by  that  time,  and  the  air  coming  in  more  and 
more  fresh  at  the  windows. 

"  Have  you  been  very  tired  to-day  ?  " 

"  No — I  don't  know — "  said  Winnie  doubtfully. 

"  We  couldn't  have  our  walk  this  evening — I  am  sorry  for 
that — but  I  was  kept  so  long  with  Bob  Satterthwaite.  He  is  in 
a  great  feaze  about  some  property  that  he  thinks  is  owing  to  him 
somewhere,  and  he  has  been  giving  me  a  long  detail  of  matters 
and  things  connected  with  the  business. — I  believe  that  if  I 
were  in  practice  he  would  commission  me  to  get  his  rights  for 
him.  And  an  old  classmate  and  friend  of  mine,  Bob  Cool,  was 
in  town  to-day  and  came  to  see  me.  He  was  expressing  a  very 
earnest  wish  that  I  were  working  on  my  own  hook." 

"  Oh  I  wish  you  were !  " — said  Winnie. 

"  Patience.  I  shall  be  in  a  little  while  more,  if  all  goes  well 
Mr.  Cool  promises  I  shall  have  all  his  business." 

"Is  that  much?" 

"  I  don't  know.     It  seems  so." 
•  "  But  isn't  Mr.  Satterthwaite  rich  ?  " 

"  Yes — very." 

"  Then  what  is  he  in  a  feaze  about  money  for  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  so  rich  he  mightn't  be  richer,  I  suppose,  Winnie. 
And  besides,  nobody  likes  to  be  cheated." 

"Is  Mr.  Hayerich?" 


286  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMTJO. 

"  Yes !     What  made  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

Winnie  hesitated.     "  She  was  here  to-day." 

"  She  !     Who  ? Clam  ?  " 

"No,  not  Clam." 

"  Who  then  ?  " 

«  Why— Miss  Haye." 

"Was  sphere?" 

"  Yes." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  This  morning.     She  staid  a  good  while  with  me." 

"It  was  kind  of  her,"  said  Winthrop  after  a  little  pause. 

There  was  a  pause  then  of  some  length. 

"  Has  Miss  Haye's  being  here  and  talking  to  you,  tired  you, 
Winnie  ?  "  said  her  brother,  the  arm  that  was  round  her  drawing 
her  more  near. 

"  No — "  Winnie  said ;  but  by  no  means  as  if  Miss  Haye's  visit 
had  had  a  sprightly  effect. 

"  Staid  here  a  good  while  talking  ?  What  did  she  talk 
about  ?  " 

"  0 — I  don't  know, — "  said  Winnie, — "  about  my  drinking 
wine,  and  going  to  ride  with  her." 

"  She  is  very  kind.     And  what  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  didn't  know  whether  you  would  let  me  drink  it.  I 
said  I  would  go  to  ride." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Miss  Haye,  and  very  glad  for 
you,  Winnie.     It  will  do  you  good." 

"Would  you  let  me  drink  wine,  if  she  should  send  it  to  me?" 

"  Did  she  speak  of  doing  that  ?  " 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  little  silence. 

"  Would  you  let  me  take  it,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  should." 

"  I  hope  she  won't  send  it,"  said  Winnie ;  "  and  I  wish  I 
wasn't  going  to  ride,  either." 

"Why?" 

"  0 — I'd  rather  stay  here." 

They  sat  a  little  while  without  speaking  another  word ;  and 
then  Winthrop  withdrawing  his  arm  proposed  to  have  '  some  light 
on  the  subject.'  Winifred  sprang  to  get  it,  but  he  held  her  back, 
and  himself  got  the  candle  and  lit  it  and  placed  it  on  the  table. 
The  light  shewed  Winnie's  face  flushed  and  unresting,  and  of 
doubtful  signification  about  the  eyes.  Winthrop  came  and  took 
his  former  place  and  position  by  her  side. 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  287 

"  How  has  the  day  been  with  you,  Winnie  ?  " 

The  tone  was  most  gentle  and  kindly.  Winnie  hesitated  and 
then  said, 

"  It  hasn't  been  good." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  good." 

"  That  isn't  such  a  new  thing  that  you  need  be  surprised  at 
it, — is  it  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

"  JSfo  " — under  breath. 

"  And  it  isn't  so  strange  a  thing  that  I  love  you  a  bit  the  less 
for  it." 

"  But  it's  very  uncomfortable,"  said  poor  Winnie,  whose  voice 
bore  her  witness. 

"  I  find  it  so  often." 

"  You,  Governor ! — you  never  do  !  "  said  Winnie  energeti- 
cally. 

"Never  do  what?" 

"  Never  feel  like  me." 

"  No,  Winnie — I  am  strong  and  you  are  weak you  are 

sick  and  I  am  well.     I  have  no  excuse — you  have,  a  little." 

"  It  don't  make  it  a  bit  better,"  said  poor  Winnie.  "  I  don't 
want  to  make  any  excuse.  I  got  so  cross  with  Mrs.  Nettley  to- 
day." 

"  What  about  ?  " 

*  0  I  couldn't  bear  to  hear  her  talk,  and  I  almost  told  her 
so." 

"  I  dare  say  you  did  what  you  could  to  mend  it  afterwards, 
Winnie." 

"  0  yes ; — and  she  didn't  think  anything  of  it  at  all ;  but  I 
am  always  doing  so,  Winthrop." 

"  You  never  do  it  to  me,"  said  her  brother  soothingly. 

"  To  you! — But  0  Winthrop ! — if  I  loved  Grod  enough,  I  never 
should  do  anything  to  displease  him !  " 

She  had  thrown  herself  further  into  her  brother's  arms  and  at 
this  was  weeping  with  all  her  heart. 

"  He  said  once  himself,"  said  Winthrop,  "  '  Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn  now,  for  they  shall  be  comforted.'  " 

Winnie  clung  faster  to  him,  with  a  grateful  clasp,  and  her 
tears  came  more  gently. 

"  We  sha'n't  be  quit  of  it  till  we  get  to  heaven,  Winnie  ;— 
and  ( the  people  that  dwell  therein/  you  know,  '  shall  be  forgiven 
their  iniquity.'     And  more  than  that,  '  white  robes  are  given  unto 


288  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

every  one  of  them.'  *  And  they  shall  see  the  King's  face,  and  his 
name  shall  be  in  their  foreheads." 

"  I  wish  it  was  in  mine  now !  "  said  Winnie. 

"  Stop,  Winnie. — I  hope  it  is  there, — only  not  so  bright  as  it 
will  be  by  and  by." 

u  But  it  ought  to  be  bright  now,"  said  Winnie  raising  her- 
self. 

"  Let  it  be  brighter  every  day  then,"  said  her  brother. 

"  I  do  try,  Governor,"  said  poor  Winnie, — "  but  sometimes  I 
think  I  don't  get  ahead  at  all ! " 

It  was  with  great  tenderness  that  again  he  put  his  arm  round 
her,  and  drew  down  her  head  upon  him,  and  pressed  her  close  to 
his  side. 

"Rest ! — "  said  he, — "  and  trust  what  is  written,  that  '  they 
shall  praise  the  Lord  that  seek  him.'  '  Wait  on  the  Lord;  be  of 
good  courage,  and  he  shall  strengthen  thine  heart ;  wait,  I  say, 
on  the  Lord.' " 

"  How  -much  better  I  feel  already,"  said  poor  Winnie  pres- 
ently. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Winnie  lay  there  still,  and  Win- 
throp  was  softly  playing  with  one  of  her  hands  and  striking  it  and 
stroking  it  against  his  own.  The  air  came  in  fresh  and  cool  from 
the  sea  and  put  the  candle  flame  out  of  all  propriety  of  behaviour ; 
it  flared  and  smoked,  and  melted  the  candle  sideways,  and  threat- 
ened every  now  and  then  to  go  out  entirely;  but  Winnie  lay 
looking  at  Winthrop's  hand  which  the  moonlight  shone  upon, 
and  Winthrop — nobody  knows  what  he  was  looking  at;  but 
neither  of  them  saw  the  candle.  Winnie  was  the  one  to  break 
the  silence. 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  she,  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  "  said  her  brother. 

"  What  ? — 0,  I  mean — I  meant — I  meant,  who  was  here  to* 
day, — Miss  Haye." 

"  You  have  seen  her,  Winnie,"  he  said  after  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  her.  Do  you  think  she  is  a  person  I 
would  like  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  don't  know  !— " 

"  But  you  know  Ler,  Winthrop,"  said  Winnie  a  little  timidly 
when  she  found  he  added  nothing  to  his  former  words. 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  like  her  ?  " 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  289 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  don't  like  everything  that  I  like,"  said  her  brother. 

"  Why  yes  I  do  !—  Don't  I  ?  " 

"  Not  everything." 

"What  don't  I?" 

"  Euripides — and  Plato." 

"  Ah  but  I  don't  understand  those,"  said  Winnie. 

Winthrop  was  silent.  Was  that  what  he  meant  ? — was  Win- 
nie's instant  thought.  Very  disagreeable.  And  his  '  yes's '  were  so 
quiet — they  told  nothing.  Winnie  looked  at  her  brother's  hand 
again,  or  rather  at  Miss  Haye  in  her  brother's  hand ;  and  Win- 
throp pursued  his  own  meditations. 

"  Governor,"  said  Winnie  after  a  while,  "  is  Miss  Haye  a 
Christian?" 

«  No." 

Winnie  asked  no  more ;  partly  because  she  did  not  dare,  and 
partly  because  the  last  answer  had  given  her  so  much  to  think 
of.  She  did  not  know  why,  either,  and  she  would  have  given  a 
great  deal  to  hear  it  over  again.  In  that  little  word  and  the 
manner  of  it,  there  had  been  so  much  to  quiet  and  to  disquiet  her. 
Undoubtedly  Winnie  would  have  done  anything  in  the  world, 
that  she  could,  to  make  Miss  Haye  a  Christian ;  and  yet,  there 
was  a  strange  sort  of  relief  in  hearing  Winthrop  say  that  word  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  a  something  in  the  way  he  said  it  that  told 
her  her  relief  had  uncertain  foundation.  The  l  no  '  had  not  been 
spoken  like  the  '  yes ' — it  came  out  half  under  breath ;  what 
meaning  lurked  about  it  Winnie  could  not  make  out ;  she  puzzled 
herself  to  think;  but  though  she  could  not  wish  it  had  been  a 
willing  4  no,'  she  wished  it  had  been  any  other  than  it  had.  She 
could  not  ask  any  more ;  and  Winthrop's  face  when  he  went  to 
his  reading  was  precisely  what  it  was  other  evenings.  But  Win- 
nie's was  not ;  and  she  went  to  bed  and  got  up  with  a  sore  spot 
in  her  heart,  and  a  resolution  that  she  would  not  like  Miss  Haye, 
for  she  would  not  know  her  well  enough  to  make  sure  that  she 
could. 


13 


CHAPTEK   XXYII 


Ha,  ha!  what  a  fool  honesty  is!  and  trust,  his  sworn  hrother,  t  very  simple  gentleman 

Wintee's  Tale. 

Poor  Winnie  held  to  her  resolution,  though  half  unconsciously 
and  quite  involuntarily.  She  did  not  enjoy  her  ride,  and  there- 
fore did  not  seem  to  enjoy  it ;  for  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  seem 
other  than  she  was.  Neither  did  she  take  or  shew  any  but  a  very 
qualified  pleasure  in  Miss  Haye's  company ;  and  for  this  reason  or 
for  others  Miss  Haye  made  her  visits  few. 

But  this  did  not  a  bit  help  the  main  question;  and  in  the 
want  of  data  and  the  absence  of  all  opportunity  for  making  obser- 
vations, Winnie  had  full  chance  to  weary  herself  with  fancies  and 
fears.  She  could  not  get  courage  enough  to  say  anything  about 
Miss  Haye  again  to  her  brother;  and  he  never  spoke  of  her. 
There  was  no  change  in  him ;  he  was  always  as  careful  of  his  lit- 
tle sister  ;  always  bestowed  his  time  upon  her  in  the  same  way; 
was  always  at  home  in  the  evenings.  Unless  when,  very  rarely, 
he  made  an  arrangement  that  she  should  spend  one  with  Mrs.  Net- 
tley  and  Mr.  Inchbald.  These  times  were  seldom ;  and  Winnie  gen- 
erally knew  where  he  was  going  and  that  it  was  not  to  Mr.  Haye's. 
But  she  was  not  sure  of  the  integrity  of  her  possession  of  him ; 
and  that  want  of  security  opened  the  sluice-gates  to  a  flood-tide  of 
wearisome  possibilities ;  and  Winnie's  nervous  and  morbid  sensi- 
bilities made  the  most  of  them.  It  was  intolerable,  to  think  that 
Winthrop  should  love  anybody  as  he  did  her ;  that  he  should  love 
anybody  better  y  happily  for  Winnie,  never  entered  her  imaginings. 
She  could  not  endure  to  think  that  those  lips,  which  were  to  her 
the  sweetest  of  earthly  things,  should  touch  any  other  cheek  or 
mouth  hut  her  own.  They  were  hers.  It  was  bitter  as  worm- 
wood to  think  that  his  strong  arm  could  ever  hold  and  guide 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMHC.  291 

another  as  it  held  and  guided  his  little  sister.     "  But  guide? 

she'd  never  let  him  guide  her !  " — said  Winnie  in  a  great  fit  of 
sisterly  indignation.  And  her  thoughts  would  tumble  and  toss 
the  matter  about,  till  her  cheek  was  in  a  flush;  she  was  generally 
too  eager  to  cry.  It  wore  upon  her ;  she  grew  thinner  and  more 
haggard ;  but  nobody  knew  the  cause  and  no  one  could  reach 
the  remedy. 

With  all  this  the  end  of  summer  came,  and  Rufus.  He  came 
to  establish  himself  under  Mr.  Haye's  direction.  '  For  the  time,' 
— as  Winthrop  told  Winnie,  when  she  asked  him  if  Rufus  was 
going  to  turn  merchant.     And  when  she  asked  him  further  '  what 

for  ? ' he  answered  that  Rufus  was  a  spice  merchant  and  dealt 

in  variety.  With  the  end  of  autumn  came  Winthrop 's  admission 
to  the  bar. 

And  Winnie  drew  a  mental  long  breath.  Winthrop  was  a 
lawyer  himself,  and  no  longer  in  a  lawyer's  office.  Winthrop  had 
an  office  of  his  own.  The  bark  was  shoved  from  the  shore,  with 
her  sails  set ;  and  Winnie,  no  more  than  her  brother,  doubted  not 
that  the  gales  of  prosperity  would  soon  fill  them.  Rufus  was 
greatly  amused  with  her. 

"  You  think  it's  a  great  thing  to  be  a  lawyer,  don't  you  ?  " 
said  he  one  night. 

"  I  think  it's  a  great  thing  to  be  such  a  lawyer  as  Governor 
will  be,"  said  Winnie. 

At  which  Rufus  laughed  prodigiously. 

Hi  I  think  it's  a  great  thing  to  be  such  a  governor  as  this  law- 
yer k  ill  be,"  he  said  when  he  had  recovered  himself.  "  Nothing 
less,  orovernor !     You  have  your  title  beforehand." 

"  '  Once  a  judge  always  a  judge,'  "  said  Winthrop.  "  I  am 
afraid  if  you  reverse  the  terms,  so  you  will  the  conclusion." 

"  Terms  !  "  said  Rufus.  "  You  will  be  governor  of  this  state, 
and  I  shall  be  your  financial  secretary — on  any  terms  you  please. 
By  the  way — what  keeps  you  from  Haye's  now-a-days?  Not 
this  girl?" 

"  No,"  said  Winthrop. 

It  was  that  same  '  no '  over  again.  Winnie  knew  it,  and  her 
heart  throbbed. 

"What  then?  I  haven't  seen  you  there  since  I've  been  in 
town." 

"  How  often  are  you  there  yourself?  " 

"  O  ! — every  evening  almost.     What  keeps  you ?  " 

"  Duty — "  said  Winthrop. 

"  But  what  sort  of  duty  !     What  on  earth  can  hinder  your 


292  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

coming  there  as  you  used  to  do,  to  spend  a  rational  hour  now 
and  then?" 

"My  dear  sir,  it  is  enough  for  any  man  to  know  his  own  duty; 
it  is  not  always  possible  for  him  to  know  that  of  another  man." 

"  And  therefore  I  ask  you  !  "  said  Rufus. 

"What?" 

"  Why  l what's  your  reason  for  keeping  away.*' 

"  In  brief — my  engagements." 

"  You've  nothing  to  do  with  briefs  yet,"  said  Rmfus ;  "  have 
the  goodness  to  enlarge  a  little.  You've  not  been  more  busy 
lately  than  you  were  a  while  ago. 

"  Yes  I  have." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  have," — said  Rufus  meditatively.  "  But 
not  so  much  more  as  to  make  that  a  reason  ?  " 

"  If  my  reasons  were  not  only  '  as  plenty  •  I  at  as  precious, 
as  blackberries,"  said  his  brother,  "you  could  not  shew  more 
eagerness  for  them." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  blackberries  would  be  the  more  savoury,' 
said  Rufus  laughing  a  little.  "But  you  didn't  use  to  make 
such  a  hermit  of  yourself,  Winthrop." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  be  a  hermit  always.  But  as  I  told  you, 
duty  and  inclination  have  combined  to  make  me  one  lately." 

Winnie  could  not  make  much  of  this  conversation.  The 
words  might  seem  to  mean  something,  but  Winthrop's  manner 
had  been  so  perfectly  cool  and  at  ease  that  she  was  at  a  loss  to 
know  whether  they  meant  anything. 

Winthrop's  first  cause  was  not  a  very  dignified  one — it  was 
something  about  a  man's  horse.  Winnie  did  not  think  much  of 
it ;  except  that  it  was  his  first  cause,  and  it  was  gained ;  but  that 
she  was  sure  beforehand  it  would  be.  However,  more  dignified 
pieces  of  business  did  follow,  and  came  fast;  and  at  every  new 
one  Winnie's  eyes  sparkled  and  glistened,  and  her  nervous  trou- 
bles for  the  moment  laid  themselves  down  beneath  joy,  and  pride 
in  her  brother,  and  thankfulness  for  his  success.  Before  many 
months  had  passed  away,  something  ofiered  that  in  better  measure 
answered  her  wishes  for  his  opportunity. 

Their  attic  room  had  one  evening  a  very  unwonted  visiter  in 
the  shape  of  Mr.  Herder.  Beside  Mr.  Inchbald  and  his  sister, 
Rufus  was  the  sole  one  that  ever  made  a  third  in  the  little  com- 
pany. Winthrop's  friends,  for  many  reasons,  had  not  the  en- 
trance there.  But  this  evening,  near  the  beginning  of  the  new 
year,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Herder's  round 
face  walked  in  rounder  than  ever. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMHC.  293 

"  Good  evening ! — How  is  all  wiz  you,  Wint'rop  ? — and  you  ? 
—I  would  not  let  no  one  come  up  wiz  me — I  knew  I  should  find 
you." 

"  How  did  you  know  that,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  0 ! 1  have  not  looked  so  long  for  strange  things  on  the 

earth — and  in  the  earth — that  I  cannot  find  a  friend — de  most 
strange  thing  of  all." 

"  Is  that  your  conclusion,  Mr.  Herder  ?  I  didn't  know  you 
had  quite  so  desperate  an  opinion  of  mankind." 

M  It  is  not  despairate,"  said  the  naturalist ; — "  I  do  not  de- 
spair of  nobody.     Dere  is  much  good  among  de  world dere 

might  be  more — -a  good  deal.  I  hope  all  will  \e  good  one  day — 
it  will  be — then  we  shall  have  no  more  trouble.  How  is  it  wiz 
you,  Wint'rop  '  " 

"  Nothing  to  complain  of,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Does  he  never  have  nozing  to  complain  of  ?  "  said  the  natu- 
ralist turning  to  Winnie. 

"  He  never  thinks  he  has,"  said  Winnie.  She  had  answered 
the  naturalist's  quick  eye  with  a  quick  smile,  and  then  turned  on 
Winthrop  a  look  that  spoke  of  many  a  thing  he  must  have  passed 
over  to  make  her  words  good.     Mr.  Herder's  eye  followed  hers. 

"  How  is  everything  with  you,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  It  is  well  enough,"  said  the  naturalist, — "  like  the  common. 
I  do  not  complain,  neizer.  I  never  have  found  time  to  complain. 
Wint'rop,  I  am  come  to  give  you  some  work." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  naturalist ; — "  I  do  not  know  noz- 
ing about  wha*;  is  to  be  done;  but  I  want  you  to  do  something." 

"  I  hope  you  will  give  me  something  more  to  go  to  work  up- 
on, sir.     What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"It  is  not  my  matter,"  said  the  naturalist ; — "  I  did  never  get 
in  such  a  quarrel  but  one,  and  I  will  never  again  in  anozer — it 
is  my  brother,  or  the  man  who  married  my  sister — his  name  is 
Jean  Lansing." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  Dere  is  too  many  things  the  matter  wiz  him,"  said  Mr.  Her- 
der, "  for  he  is  sick  abed — that  is  why  I  am  here.  I  am  come  to 
tell  you  his  business  and  to  get  you  to  do  it." 

"  I  shall  think  I  am  working  for  you,  Mr.  Herder,"  Winthrop 
said,  as  he  tied  up  a  bundle  of  papers  which  had  been  lying  loose 
about  the  table. 

"  Have  you  got  plenty  to  do  ?  "  said  the  naturalist,  giving 
them  a  good-humoured  eye. 


294  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Can't  have  too  much,  sir.  Now  what  is  your  brother's  af- 
fair ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  as  I  can  tell  you,"  said  the  other,  his  bright 
jovial  face  looking  uncommonly  mystified, — "  it  seems  to  me  he  does 
not  know  very  well  himself.  He  does  not  know  that  anybody 
has  done  nozing,  but  he  is  not  satisfied" 

"  And  my  business  is  to  satisfy  him  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  do  that you  shall  be  satisfied  too  I "  said  the 

naturalist.     "  He  does  not  know  that  any  one  has  wronged  him. 
but  he  thinks  one  has." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"Ryle John  Ryle.     He  was  Mr.  Lansing's  partner  iD 

business  for  years — I  do  not  know  how  man  v." 

"  Here  ?  " 

"  In  Manna-hatta — here — they  were  partners  ;  and  Ryle 
had  brothers  in  England,  and  he  was  the  foreign  partner  and 
Lansing  was  here,  for  the  American  part  of  the  business.  "Well. 
they  were  working  togezer  for  years; — and  at  the  end  of  them,  when 
they  break  up  the  business,  it  is  found  that  Ryle  has  made  him- 
self money,  and  that  my  brother  has  not  made  none !  So  he  ie 
poor,  and  my  sister,  and  Ryle  is  rich." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  It  is  that  way  as  I  tell  you ;  and  Ryle  has  plenty,  and  Lan 
sing  and  Theresa  they  have  not." 

"  But  has  Mr.  Lansing  no  notion  how  this  may  have  come 
about?" 

J  He  knows  nozing ! "  said  the  naturalist, — "  no  more  than  you 
know — except  he  knows  he  is  left  wizout  nozing,  and  Ryle  hap 
not  left  himself  so.     Dat  is  all  he  knows." 

"  Can  I  see  Mr.  Lansing  ?  " 

"  He  is  too  sick.  And  he  could  tell  you  nozing.  But  he  is 
not  satisfied." 

"  Is  John  Ryle  of  this  city  ?  " 

"  He  is  of  this  city.  He  is  not  doing  business  no  more,  bui 
he  lives  here." 

"  Well  we  can  try,  Mr.  Herder,"  said  Winthrop,  tapping  his 
bundle  of  papers  on  the  table,  in  a  quiet  wise  that  was  a  strong 
contrast  to  the  ardent  face  and  gestures  of  the  philosopher.  It 
was  the  action,  too,  of  a  man  who  knew  how  to  try  and  was  in 
no  doubt  as  to  his  own  power.     The  naturalist  felt  it. 

"  What  will  you  do,  Wint'rop  ?  " 

"  You  wish  me  to  set  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  do.     I  put  it  in  your  hands." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE    SHATEMUO.  295 

u  I  will  try,  Mr.  Herder,  what  can  be  done." 
"  What  will  you  do  first  ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 

"  File  a  bill  in  equity,"  said  Winthrop  smiling. 

"  A  bill  ?— what  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  paper  setting  forth  certain  charges,  made  on  supposition 
and  suspicion  only,  to  which  charges  they  must  answer  on  oath  n 

"  Who  will  answer  ?  " 

"  Ryle  and  his  brothers." 

"  Dere  is  but  one  of  them  alive." 

"  Well,  Ryle  and  his  brother,  then.  " 

"  But  what  charges  will  you  make  ?  W7e  do  not  know  nozing 
to  charge." 

"  Our  charges  will  be  merely  on  supposition  and  suspicion — 
it's  not  needful  to  swear  to  them." 

"  And  they  must  swear  how  it  is  ?  " 

"  They  must  swear  to  their  answers." 

11  That  will  do  !  "  said  the  naturalist,  looking  '  satisfied  '  al- 
ready. "  That  will  do.  We  will  see  what  they  will  say. — Do 
you  do  nozing  but  write  bills  all  night,  every  night,  and  tie  up 
papers  ? — you  do  not  come  to  my  room  no  more  since  a  long 
time." 

"  Not  for  want  of  will,  Mr.  Herder.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  go." 

"Bring  your  little  sister  and  let  her  look  at  my  things 
some  time — while  you  and  me  we  look  at  each  other.  It  is  good 
to  look  at  one's  friend  sometime." 

"  I  have  often  found  it  so,  Mr.  Herder.  I  will  certainly  bring 
Winnie  if  I  can." 

"  Do  you  not  go  nowhere  ?  "  said  the  naturalist  as  if  a  thought 
had  struck  him.  "  What  is  de  reason  that  I  do  not  meet  you 
at  Mr.  Haye's  no  more  ?  " 

"  I  go  almost  nowhere,  sir." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  You  are  not  right. 
Dere  is  more  will  miss  you  than  me ;  and  there  is  somebody  there 
who  wants  you  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  I  hope  you  are  mistaken,  sir." 

"  She  wants  somebody  to  take  care  of  her,"  said  Mr.  Herder; 
i:  and  I  do  not  know  nobody  so  good  as  you.  I  am  serious.  She 
is  just  as  afraid  as  ever  one  should  take  care  of  her,  and  poor 
thing  she  wants  it  all  the  more.  She  will  not  let  your  brother 
do  it  neizer." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  trying,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  Winthrop  said 
coolly. 


296  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTTC. 

"  I  believe  he  would  be  too  glad !  he  looks  at  her  &o  hard 
as  he  can ;  but  she  will  not  look  at  the  tops  of  his  fingers.  She 
does  not  know  what  she  shall  do  wiz  herself,  she  is  so  mad  wiz 
her  father's  new  wife." 

"  What  has  she  been  doing  ?  "  Winthrop  asked. 

"  Who,  Rose  ? — she  has  not  done  nozing,  but  to  marry  Elisa- 
bet's  father,  and  for  that  she  never  will  forgive  her.  I  am  sorry 
— he  was  foolish  man. — Wint'rop,  you  must  not  shut  yourself  up 
here — you  will  be  directly  rich — you  must  find  yourself  a  wife 
next  thing." 

"  Why  should  a  lawyer  have  a  wife  any  more  than  a  philos- 
opher ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  A  philosopher,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  with  the  slightest  comical 
expression  upon  his  broad  face, — "  has  enough  for  him  to  do  to 
take  care  of  truth — he  has  not  time  to  take  care  of  his  wife  too. 
While  I  was  hunting  after  de  truth,  my  wife  would  forget  me." 

11  Does  it  take  you  so  long  for  a  hunt  ?  " 

"  I  am  doing  it  all  de  time,"  said  the  naturalist ;  "  it  is  what 
I  spend  my  life  for.     I  live  for  that." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  quiet  deliberation  which 
told  their  truth.  And  if  the  grave  mouth  of  the  other  might 
have  said  '  I  live  for  truth  '  too,  it  would  not  have  belied  his 
thoughts.     But  it  was  truth  of  another  kind. 

Winnie  watched  the  course  of  this  piece  of  business  of  Mr. 
Herder's  with  the  most  eager  anxiety.  That  is,  what  there  was 
to  watch ;  for  proceedings  were  slow.  The  very  folio  pages  of 
that  '  Bill,'  that  she  saw  Winthrop  writing,  were  scrolls  of  in- 
terest and  mysterious  charm  to  Winnie's  eyes,  like  nothing  surely 
that  other  eyes  could  find  in  them.  Certainly  not  the  eyes  of 
Mr.  Ryle  and  his  lawyer.  Winnie  watched  the  bill  folded  up 
and  superscribed,  standing  over  her  brother  with  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  What  is  that  about,  now,  Governor  ? — what  is  it  to  do  ?  " 

"  It  charges  Mr.  Ryle  and  his  brother  with  malpractices, 
Winnie — with  dealing  unfairly  by  Mr.  Lansing." 

"  But  you  don't  know  that  they  have  done  anything  ?  " 

"They  can  shew  it,  in  that  case;  and  the  object  of  this 
bill  is  to  make  them  shew  one  thing  or  the  other,  by  their 
answer." 

"  And,  dear  Governor,  how  soon  will  they  answer  ?  " 

"  In  forty  days,  Winnie,  they  must." 

Winnie  drew  a  breath  of  patience  and  impatience,  and  went 
back  to  her  seat. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  297 

But  before  the  forty  days  were  gone  by,  Winthrop  came  home 
one  night  and  told  Winnie  he  had  got  the  answer ;  and  smiled  at 
her  face  of  eagerness  and  pleasure.  "Winnie  thought  his  smiles 
were  not  very  often,  and  welcomed  every  one. 

"  But  it  is  not  likely  this  answer  will  settle  the  question, 
Winnie,"  he  remarked. 

"  O  no,  I  suppose  not ;  but  I  want  to  know  what  they  say." 

So  they  had  supper ;  and  after  supper  she  watched  while  he 
sat  reading  it ;  as  leaf  after  leaf  was  turned  over,  from  the  close- 
written  and  close-lying  package  in  Winthrop's  hand  to  the  array 
of  pages  that  had  already  been  turned  back  and  lay  loose  piled 
on  the  table ;  while  Winthrop's  pencil  now  and  then  made  an  ad- 
monitory note  in  the  margin.  How  his  sister  admired  him  ! — and 
at  last  forgot  the  bill  in  studying  the  face  of  the  bill-reader.  It 
was  very  little  changed  from  its  old  wont;  and  what  difference 
there  might  be,  was  not  the  effect  of  a  business  life.  The  cool  and 
invariable  self-possession  and  self-command  of  the  character  had 
kept  and  promised  to  keep  him  himself,  in  the  midst  of  these 
and  any  other  concerns,  however  entangling  or  engrossing.  The 
change,  if  any,  was  traceable  to  somewhat  else ;  or  to  somewhat 
else  Winnie  laid  it, — though  she  would  not  have  called  it  a  change, 
but  only  an  added  touch  of  perfection.  She  could  not  tell,  as 
she  looked,  what  that  touch  had  done  ;  if  told,  perhaps  it  might 
be,  that  it  had  added  sweetness  to  the  gravity  and  gravity  to  the 
sweetness  that  was  there  before.  How  Winnie  loved  that  broad 
brow,  and  the  very  hand  it  rested  on  !  All  the  well-known  lines 
of  calmness  and  strength  about  the  face  her  eye  went  over  and 
over  again ;  she  had  quite  forgotten  Mr.  Ryle ;  and  she  saw 
Winthrop  folding  up  the  voluminous  '  answer,'  and  she  hardly 
cared  to  ask  what  was  in  it.  She  watched  the  hands  that  were 
doing  it.  They  seemed  to  speak  his  character,  too ;  she  thought 
they  did ;  calmness  and  decision  were  in  the  very  fingers.  Be- 
fore her  curiosity  had  recovered  itself  enough  to  speak,  Mr.  Her- 
der came  in. 

They  talked  for  awhile  about  other  things ;  and  then  Win- 
throp told  him  of  the  answer. 

"  You  have  it !  "  cried  the  naturalist.  "  And  what  do  they 
say?" 

"  Nothing,  fully  and  honestly." 

"  Ah  ha ! — And  do  they  grant — do  they  allow  anything  of 
your  charges,  that  you  made  in  your  bill  ?  " 

"  Yes — in  a  vague  and  unsatisfactory  way,  they  do." 

"  Vague — ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 
13* 


298  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"  Not  open  and  clear.  But  the  other  day  in  the  street  1  was 
stopped  by  Mr.  Brick " 

"  Who  is  Brick  ?  "  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  He  is  Kyle's  lawyer.  He  stopped  me  a  few  days  ago  and 
told  me  there  was  one  matter  in  the  answer  with  which  perhaps 
I  would  not  be  satisfied — which  perhaps  I  should  not  think  suf- 
ficiently full ;  but  he  said,  he,  who  had  drawn  the  answer,  knew, 
personally,  all  about  it ;  and  he  assured  me  that  the  answer  in 
this  matter  granted  all,  and  more,  tnan  I  could  gain  in  any  other 
way ;  and  that  if  I  carried  the  proceedings  further,  in  hopes  to 
gain  more  for  my  client,  the  effect  would  only  be  an  endless 
delay." 

"  Do  they  offer  to  give  him  something  ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 

"  The  answer  does  make  disclosures,  which  though,  as  I  said, 
vague  and  imperfect,  still  promise  to  give  him  something." 

"  And  you  think  it  might  be  more  ?  " 

"  Brick  assures  me,  on  his  own  knowledge,  that  by  going  on 
with  the  matter  we  shall  only  gain  an  endless  lawsuit." 

"  What  do  you  think,  Wint'rop  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  give  this  paper  to  Mr.  Lansing,  and  ask  him 
what  he  thinks.  Ask  him  to  read  it,  and  tell  him  what  Brick  says ; 
and  then  let  him  make  up  his  mind  whether  we  had  better  go  on 
or  not." 

"I  do  not  care  for  nobody's  mind  but  yours,"  said  the 
naturalist. 

"  Let  us  have  Mr.  Lansing's  first." 

So  Mr.  Herder  carried  away  the  answer  to  Mr.  Lansing,  and 
in  a  few  days  came  back  to  report  progress. 

"  He  has  read  it,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  "  and  he  says  he  do  not 
make  anything  of  it  at  all.     He  leaves  the  whole  thing  wiz  you." 

"  Does  he  understand  what  is  hinted  at  by  these  half  dis- 
closures?" 

"  He  says  he  does  not  understand  nozing  of  it — he  knows  not 
what  they  mean — he  does  not  know  whether  to  go  on,  whether 
to  stop  here.  He  says,  and  I  say,  you  judge  and  do  what  you 
please." 

"  I  confess,  Mr.  Herder,  that  Mr.  Brick's  kind  warning  has 
made  me  suspicious  of  his  and  his  principal's  good  faith ;  and  my 
will  would  be  to  go  on." 

w  Go  on,  then !  "  said  the  naturalist — "  I  say  so  too — go  on !  I 
do  not  trust  that  Brick  no  more  than  you  do ;  and  Mr.  Kyle,  him 
I  do  not  trust.     Now  what  will  you  do  next  ?  " 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  299 

"  Take  exceptions  to  the  answer,  where  it  seems  to  be  insuffi- 
cient, and  make  them  answer  again." 

"  Exception — ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 

In  answer  to  which  Winthrop  went  into  explanations  at  some 
length ;  from  which  at  least  this  much  was  clearly  made  out  by 
Mr.  Herder  and  Winnie, — that  the  cause  would  come  to  a  hear- 
ing probably  in  May,  before  Chancellor  Justice ;  when  Winthrop 
and  Mr.  Brick  would  stand  openly  pitted  against  each  other  and 
have  an  opportunity  of  trying  their  mutual  strength,  or  the  strength 
of  their  principles ;  when  also  it  would,  according  to  the  issue  of 
said  conflict,  be  decided  whether  the  Ryles  must  or  not  reply  to 
Winthrop's  further  demands  upon  them. 

"  And  this  Chancellor  Justice — is  he  good  man  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Herder. 

"  As  good  a  man  as  I  want  to  argue  before,'  said  Winthrop. 
tt  I  ask  no  better.     All  is  safe  in  that  quarter." 

That  all  was  safe  in  another  quarter,  both  Mr,  Herder  and 
Winnie  felt  sure ;  and  both  looked  eagerly  forward  to  May ;  both 
too  with  very  much  the  same  feeling  of  pride  and  interest  in  their 
champion. 

Winnie's  heart  jumped  again  at  hearing  a  few  days  after,  that 
Mr.  Satterthwaite  had  put  his  affairs  into  Winthrop's  hands; 
partly,  Winthrop  said  he  supposed,  out  of  friendship  for  him, 
and  partly  out  of  confidence  in  him.  It  was  rather  a  mark  of 
the  former,  that  he  insisted  upon  paying  a  handsome  retaining 
fee. 

"  Now  where's  Mr.  Cool  and  his  affairs  ?  "  said  Winnie. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Cool  is  at  Coldstream,  where  he  keeps  '  cool' 
all  the  year  round,  I  understand." 

"But  lie  promised  to  put  his  affairs  into  your  hands." 

"  Then  he:ll  do  it.     Perhaps  they  keep  cool  too." 

"  I  wish  May  would  be  here,"  said  Winnie. 

Winthrop  was  at  the  table  one  evening, — while  it  still  wanted 
some  weeks  of  the  May  term, — writing,  as  usual,  with  heaps  of 
folio  papers  scattered  all  about  him ;  writing  fast ;  and  Winnie 
was  either  reading  or  looking  at  him,  who  was  the  book  she  loved 
best  to  study  ;  when  Rufus  came  in.  Both  looked  up  and  wel- 
comed him  smilingly;  but  then  Winthrop  went  on  with  his 
writing ;  while  Winnie's  book  was  laid  down.  She  Lad  enough 
else  now  to  do.  Rufus  took  a  seat  by  the  fire  and  did  as  she 
often  did, — looked  at  Winthrop. 

"  Are  you  always  writing  ?  "  said  he  somewhat  gloomily. 


300  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Not  always,"  said  Winthrop.  "  I  sometimes  read  foi 
variety." 

"  Law  papers  ?  " 

H  Law  papers — when  I  can't  read  anything  else." 

"  That's  pretty  much  all  the  time,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  0  no,"  said  Winnie ; — "  he  reads  a  great  deal  to  me — we 
were  reading  a  while  ago,  before  you  came  in — we  read  every 
evening." 

,     Rufus  brought  his  attention  round  upon  her,  not,  as  it  seemed, 
with  perfect  complacency. 

"What  time  does  this  girl  go  to  bed  ?  " 

How  Winnie's  face  changed.  Winthrop  answered  without 
stopping  his  pen. 

"  When  she  is  tired  of  sitting  up — not  until  then.' 

"  She  ought  to  have  a  regular  hour — and  an  early  one." 

"  You  are  an  adviser  upon  theory,  you  see,"  said  Winthrop 
going  on  with  his  writing; — "  I  have  the  advantage  of  practice.' 

"  I  fancy  any  adviser  would  tell  you  the  same  in  this  case,' 
said  the  elder  brother  somewhat  stiffly.  • 

"  I  can  go  now,"  Winifred  said  rising,  and  speaking  with  a 
trembling  lip  and  a  tremulous  voice, — "  if  you  want  to  talk  about 
anything." 

She  lit  a  candle  and  had  got  to  the  door,  when  her  other 
brother  said, 

"  Winnie !— " 

Winnie  stopped  and  turned  with  the  door  in  her  hand.  Win 
throp  was  busy  clearing  some  books  and  papers  from  a  chair  by 
his  side.  He  did  not  speak  again ;  when  he  had  done  he  looked 
up  and  towards  her ;  and  obeying  the  wish  of  his  face,  as  she 
would  have  done  had  it  been  any  other  conceivable  thing,  Winnie 
shut  the  door,  set  her  candle  down,  and  came  and  took  the  chair, 
beside  him.  But  then;  when  she  felt  his  arm  put  round  her,  she 
threw  her  head  down  upon  him  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  nervously 
passionate  tears.  That  was  not  his  wish,  she  knew,  but  she  could 
not  help  it. 

"  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Winthrop,  "  may  I  trouble  you  to  put 
out  that  candle.  We  are  not  so  extravagant  here  as  to  burn  bed- 
lights  till  we  want  them. — Hush,  Winnie, — "  softly  said  his  voico 
in  her  ear  and  his  arm  at  the  same  time. 

11  Absurd !  "  said  Rufus,  getting  up  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 

"  What  ?  "  said  his  brother. 

"  Why  I  really  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  I  am  really  very  willing  to  listen." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  302 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  talk  to  anybody  beside  you." 

"  Winnie  hears  everything  that  is  said  here,  Will,"  said  the 
younger  brother  gravely,  at  the  same  time  restraining  with  his 
arm  the  motion  he  felt  Winnie  made  to  go. 

"  It  don't  signify !  "  said  Rufus,  getting  up  and  beginning  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  gloomily. 

"What  doesn't  signify?" 

"  Anything !— " 

The  steps  were  quicker  and  heavier,  with  concealed  feeling. 
Winthrop  looked  at  him  and  was  silent ;  while  Rufus  seemed  to 
be  combating  some  unseen  grievance,  by  the  set  of  his  lip  and 
nostril. 

"  What  do  you  think  Haye  has  done  ?  " — he  broke  out,  like 
a  horse  that  is  champing  the  bit. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  He  has  sued  me." 

"  Sued  you  !  "  exclaimed  Winthrop,  while  even  Winnie  for- 
got her  tears  and  started  up.     Rufus  walked. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Will  ?  " 

"  I  mean  he  has  sued  me  !  " — said  Rufus  stopping  short  and 
facing  them  with  eyes  that  for  the  moment  had  established  a 
natural  pyrotechny  of  their  own. 

u  How,  and  what  for  ?  " 

"  How  ? — by  the  usual  means  !   What  for  ? — I  will  tell  you ! " 

Which  he  sat  down  to  do ;  Winthrop  and  Winnie  both  his 
most  earnest  auditors. 

"  You  know  it  was  Haye's  own  proposition,  urged  by  himself) 
that  I  should  gA  into  business  with  him.  Nobody  asked  him — 
it  was  his  own  doing ;  it  was  his  declared  purpose  and  wish,  un- 
solicited by  me  or  my  father  or  by  anybody,  to  set  me  forward  in 
his  own  line  and  put  me  in  the  way  of  making  my  fortune  ! — as 
he  said." 

Winth..*op  knew  it,  and  had  never  liked  it.  He  did  not  tell 
Rufus  so  now ;  he  gave  him  nothing  but  the  attention  of  his 
calm  face ;  into  which  Rufus  looked  while  he  talked,  as  if  it  were 
the  safe,  due,  and  appointed  treasury  in  which  to  bestow  all  his 
grievances  and  passionate  sense  of  them. 

"  Well ! — you  know  he  offered,  a  year  ago  or  more,  that  by 
way  of  making  a  beginning,  I  should  take  off  his  hands  some 
cotton  which  he  had  lying  in  storage,  and  ship  it  to  Liverpool  on 
my  own  account;  and  as  I  had  no  money,  I  was  to  pay  him  by 
drawing  bills  in  his  favour  upon  the  consignees." 

"  I  remember  very  well,"  said  Winthrop. 


302  THE    HILLS     OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  "Well  sir  ! — the  cotton  reached  Liverpool  and  was  found 
good  for  nothing  !  " 

"  Literally  ?  " 

u  Literally,  sir ! — wasn't  worth  near  the  amount  of  my  bills, 
which  of  course  were  returned — and  Haye  has  sued  me  for  the 
rest ! " 

Rufus's  face  looked  as  if  a  spark  from  it  might  easily  have 
burnt  up  the  whole  consignment  of  cotton,  if  it  had  happened  to 
be  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  How  was  the  cotton  ? — damaged  ?  " 

"  Damaged  ? — of  course  ! — kept  in  vaults  here  till  it  was 
spoiled ;  and  he  knew  it !  " 

'  For  what  amount  has  he  sued  you  ? "  said  Winthrop  when 
Ruius  had  fed  his  fire  silently  for  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"  For  more  than  I  can  pay — or  will ! — " 

"  How  much  does  that  stand  for,  in  present  circumstances  ?  " 

"How  much  ?     A  matter  of  several  hundreds !  " 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  So  many,  as  I  should  leave  myself  penniless  to  pay,  and 
then  not  pay.     You  know  I  lost  money  down  there." 

"  I  know,"  said  his  brother. 

Winifred  brought  her  eyes  round  to  Winthrop ;  and  Win- 
throp looked  grave ;  and  Rufus,  as  before,  fiery ;  and  there  was 
a  silence  this  time  of  more  than  two  minutes. 

"  My  dependence  is  on  you,  Governor,"  Rufus  said  at  last. 

"  I  wish  I  co-Ud  help  you,  Will." 

"  How  oan  I  get  out  of  this  scrape  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  defence  in  law." 

*  But  there  must  be  a  defence  somewhere  !  "  said  Rufus  draw- 
ing himself  up,  with  the  whoh  spirit  of  the  common  law  appar- 
ently within  him,  energizing  the  movement. 

"  The  only  hope  of  relief  would  be  in  the  equity  courts." 

"  How  there  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

Winthrop  hesitated. 

"  A  plea  of  fraud — alleging  that  Mr.  Haye  has  overreached 
you,  putting  off  upon  you  goods  which  he  knew  to  be  worthless." 

"  To  be  sure  he  did  !  "  said  Rufus.  "  Knew  it  as  well  as  he 
does  now.     It  was  nothing  but  a  fraud.     An  outrageous  fraud  !  " 

Winthrop  made  no  answer,  and  the  brothers  paused  again, 
each  in  his  meditations.  Winnie,  passing  her  eyes  from  one  to 
the  other,  thought  Winthrop  looked  as  if  his  were  very  grave. 

"  I  depend  upon  you,  Governor,"  the  elder  brother  said  moro 
quietly. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  303 

"To  do  what?" 

"Why! — "  said  Rufus  firing  again, — uto  do  whatever  is 
necessary  to  relieve  me !  Who  should  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  could  get  somebody  else,  Will,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot !  "  said  Rufus.  "  If  I  had  the  money 
I  would  pay  it  and  submit  to  be  trodden  upon — I  would  rather 
take  it  some  ways  than  some  others — but  unhappily  necessity  is 
laid  upon  me.  I  cannot  pay,  and  I  am  unwilling  to  go  to  jail, 
and  I  must  ask  you  to  help  me,  painful  as  it  is." 

Winthrop  was  silent,  grave  and  calm  as  usual ;  but  Winnie's 
heart  achod  to  see  how  grave  his  eye  was.  Did  she  read  it  right  ? 
He  was  silent  still ;  and  so  was  Rufus,  though  watching  for  him 
to  speak. 

"  Well !"  said  Rufus  at  last  getting  up  with  a  start,  "  I  will 
relieve  you  !  I  am  sorry  I  troubled  you  needlessly — I  shall  know 
better  than  to  do  it  again ! — " 

He  was  rushing  off,  but  before  he  reached  iie  door  Winthrop 
had  planted  himself  in  front  of  it. 

"  Stand  out  of  my  way." 

"  I  am  not  in  it.     Go  back,  Will." 

"  I  won't,  if  you  please. I'll  thank  you  to  let  me  open  the 

door." 

"  I  will  not.  Go  back  to  your  seat,  Rufus — I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  you  did  wotf,"  said  Rufus,  stand- 
ing still      "  I  waited  for  you  to  speak.'* 

"It  is  safe  to  conclude  that  when  a  man  makes  you  wait,  he 
has  something  to  say." 

"  You  are  more  certain  of  it  when  he  lets  you  know  what  it 
is,"  said  Rufus. 

"  Provided  he  knows  first  himself." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  you  to  find  out  what  you  have  to 
say  ?  "  said  Rufus,  returning  to  his  ordinary  manner  and  his  seat 
at  once.  The  fire  seemed  to  have  thrown  itself  off  in  that  last  jet 
of  flame. 

"  I  sometimes  find  I  have  too  much ;  and  then  there  is  apt  to 
be  a  little  delay  of  choice." 

"  A  delay  to  choose  ? — or  a  choice  of  delay  ?"  said  Rufus. 

"  Sometimes  one  and  sometimes  the  other." 

One  or  the  other  seemed  still  in  force  with  Winthrop's  pre- 
sent matter  of  speech,  for  he  came  before  the  fire  and  stood  mend- 
ing it,  and  said  nothing. 


304  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC, 

"  Winthrop,"  said  Kufus  gravely,  "have  you  any particulai 
reason  to  decline  doing  this  business  for  me?" 

Winthrop  hesitated  slightly,  and  then  came  forth  one  of  those 
same  '  no's,'  that  Winnie  knew  by  heart. 

"  Have  you  any  particular  reason  to  dislike  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.     They  were  my  friends  once." 

"  But  is  your  friendship  for  them  stronger  than  for  anybody 
else?" 

"  It  does  not  stand  in  the  way  of  my  duty  to  you,  Will." 

"  Your  duty  to  me, "  said  the  other. 

u  Yes.     I  cannot  in  this  instance  call  it  pleasure." 

It  was  the  turn  of  Kufus  to  hesitate ;  for  the  face  of  his  bro- 
ther expressed  an  absence  of  pleasure  that  to  him,  in  the  circum- 
stances, was  remarkable. 

"  Then  you  do  not  refuse  to  undertake  this  job  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Winthrop,  working  at  a  large 
forestick  on  the  fire.  How  Winnie  wished  he  would  let  it  alone, 
and  place  himself  so  that  she  could  see  him. 

"  And  don't  you  think  there  is  good  prospect  of  our  succeed- 

•tog?" 

"  If  Chancery  don't  give  it  you,  I'll  take  it  to  the  Court  of 
Errors,"  said  Winthrop,  arranging  the  log  to  his  satisfaction,  and 
then  putting  the  rest  of  the  fire  in  order. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  give  you  trouble,  Governor,"  his  brother  said 
thoughtfully. 

"  I'm  sorry  you've  got  it  to  give,  Will." 

But  Kufus  went  on  looking  into  the  fire,  and  seeming  to  get 
deeper  into  the  depths  of  something  less  bright  as  he  looked. 

"  After  all  I  am  much  the  most  to  be  pitied,"  he  began.     "  I 

thought  to-day,  Governor 1  did  not  know  what  would  become 

of  me!" 

"  I  can  tell  you  that  beforehand,"  said  his  brother.  "  You 
will  become,  exactly,  what  you  choose  to  make  yourself." 

"  That  is  what  you  always  say,"  returned  Kufus  a  little  cyni- 
cally. 

"  That  is  what  I  have  found  in  my  own  practice,"  said  Win- 
throp. He  put  up  the  tongs  and  took  his  old  seat  by  Winnie. 
Kufus  looked  still  into  the  fire. 

"I  am  thrown  out  of  this  employment  now,"  he  said; — "I 

am  disgusted  with  it and  if  I  were  not,  there  is  no  way  for  me 

to  follow  it  with  advantage." 

"  I  am  not  sorry  for  that,  Will.  I  never  liked  it  for  you,  nor 
you  for  it." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMtJC.  305 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do. — I  am  a  loose  pin  in  the  Mosaic  of 
society — the  pattern  is  all  made  up  without  me." 

"  What  pin  has  got  your  place  ?"  said  Winthrop. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Simply,  that  as  in  the  nature,  of  things  there  cannot  be  too 
many  pins,  a  pin  that  is  out  of  place  must  be  such  by  a  derelict 
of  duty." 

u  What  is  my  place  ?  " 

"  If  my  word  would  set  you  in  it,  I  would  tell  you." 

"  Tell  me,  and  perhaps  it  will." 

"  I  should  bid  you  return  to  your  engineer's  work  and  serve 
God  in  it." 

"  Yery  poor  chance  for  serving  God  or  man,  in  that  work," 
said  Rufus.     "  Or  myself." 

"  And  no  chance  at  all  so  long  as  you  are  doing  nothing." 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  compare  myself  with  you," — Rufus  went  on 
moodily. 

"  Compare  yourself  with  yourself,  Will, the  actual  with 

the  possible, and  then  go  forward." 

"  What  is  possible  in  an  engineer's  life ! "  said  Rufus. 

"  Everything  is  possible,  in  any  place  where  Providence  has 
put  you,  for  the  future  at  least.  And  the  firm  purpose  of  serving 
God  in  it,  will  dignify  for  the  present  any  life. 

"  '  A  man  that  looks  on  glass 

" '  On  it  may  stay  his  eye ; 
"  '  Or,  if  he  pleaseth,  through  it  pass, 

"  *  And  then  the  heaven  espy ! ' " 

Rufus  met  the  grave  slight  smile  on  his  brother's  face,  and 
his  eye  watered. 

"  You  are  better  than  I  am,"  he  said  with  one  of  very  dif- 
ferent meaning. 

"  If  that  be  true  to-day, Will,  don't  let  it  be  true  to-morrow." 

They  wrung  each  other's  hands,  and  the  elder  brother  went 
soberly  away. 


CHAPTEK   XXYIII. 

An't  be  any  way,  it  must  he  with  valour;  for  Policy  I  hate :  I  had  as  lief  he  a  Br<»wiifet 
as  a  politician. 

Twelfth  Night. 

The  family  at  No.  11  on  the  Parade,  were  seated  at  break- 
fast one  morning  towards  the  latter  end  of  May ;  the  old  trio, 
only  with  Elizabeth  and  Rose  in  each  other's  places. 

"  What  is  the  reason  Winthrop  Landholm  don't  come  here 
any  more  ?  "  said  the  latter  lady. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  when  the  silence  had  threat- 
ened the  failure  of  any  answer  at  all. 

"  What's  the  reason,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ! — how  should  I  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell,'v  said  Rose,  "  but  I  didn't  know  but 
you  did.  I  wish  you'd  ask  him  to  come  again,  Mr.  Haye — do 
you  know  bow  he  is  getting  up  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  know  how  cotton  is  falling,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  swallowing 
his  tea  and  the  newspaper  apparently  both  at  the  same  time. 

"  Cotton  ! — "  said  Rose.  "  Now  Mr.  Haye,  just  put  down 
that  paper  and  listen  to  me ; — do  you  know  how  Winthrop  Land- 
holm  is  holding  his  head  up  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  looking  at  the  pretty  little  head  which 
wa3  holding  itself  up,  over  against  him. 

"  Well  he  is.  You  didn't  hear  what  Mr.  Satterthwaite  was 
saying  about  him  last  night,  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  hear  Mr.  Satterthwaite  say  anything." 

"  Well  he  says  he's  had  quite  a  great  cause  come  on,  now, 
just  a  few  days  ago " 

"  Who  has  ?  Mr.  Satterthwaite  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  Mr.  Haye  ! — of  course  ! — I  mean  Mr.  Landholm 
has — a  cause  that  he  was  to  argue,  you  know — that's  what  I 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTTC.  307 

mean — before  Chancellor  Justice — and  Mr.  Satterthwaite  says  lie 
did  it  splendidly ! — he  said  everybody  stood  and  looked  ; — and 
the  Chancellor  gave  him  everything  he  asked  for — made  all  his 
exceptions,  he  said,  whatever  that  means  " — 

"  Allowed  his  exceptions,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  0  you  could  listen  when  Mr.  Satterthwaite  was  speaking  of 
Winthrop  Landholm !  " 

"  Mr.  Satterthwaite  don't  often  have  «o  good  a  subject.  I 
listened  certainly,  and  was  very  much  interested; — the  only 
time  I  ever  remember  Mr.  Satterthwaite's  saying  anything  I 
cared  to  hear." 

"  Well  now,  Mr.  Haye,  why  isn't  it  just  as  well  to  say  '  made 
an  exception,'  as  '  allowed  an  exception  '  ?  I  don't  think  '  allowed 
an  exception '  is  good  English." 

"  It  is  good  law  English,  I  suppose,  Rose." 

"  Well  I  don't  care — at  any  rate,  he  said  the  Chancellor  al- 
lowed every  one  of  Mr.  Landholm's  exceptions, — I  suppose  you 
understand  it, — and  wouldn't  allow  a  single  thing  to  Mr.  Brick ; 
and  Mr.  Brick  was  the  lawyer  on  the  other  side ;  and  Mr.  Sat- 
terthwaite said  it  was  a  great  triumph  for  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  Dustus  O.  Brick  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"Yes,"  said  Elizabeth. 

11 1  don't  know,"  said  Rose;  "he  said  Mr.  Brick, — or  the 
noted  Mr.  Brick — I  suppose  that's  the  man." 

"  Dustus  0.  Brick !  "  said  Mr.  Haye — "  he's  one  of  the  best 
men  in  the  bar,  and  a  very  clever  man  too ;  a  distinguished 
lawyer ;  there's  no  one  more  thought  of." 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Satterthwaite  said, — he  said  so, — he  said 
it  was  a  groat  triumph  for  Mr.  Landholm  ; — and  now  Mr.  Haye, 
won't  you  ask  him  to  come  here  again  as  he  used  to  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  Landholm." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Why  I  want  to  see  him — and  so  do  you,  Mr.  Haye.  Now 
Mr.  Haye,  won't  you  ? — Though  I  don't  know  but  Elizabeth 
would  be  the  best  one  to  ask  him." 

"  Why  ?  "  dryly  said  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  I  guess  he'd  be  more  likely  to  come." 

"  If  I  thought  so,  and  it  were  my  part  to  do  it,  I  certainly 
should  ask  him,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  There  isn't  any  person  so 
pleasant  as  he  to  take  his  place,  among  all  that  come  here." 

"  You  were  glad  of  what  Mr.  Satterthwaite  told  us  last  night 
weren't  you?  "   said  Rose  with  a  sinister  smile. 


308  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Very  glad  !  " 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  Mr.  Satterthwaite  go  on  so  about  any- 
body ?  One  would  Lave  thought  Mr.  Landholm  was  his  own 
brother.     I  wonder  if  that  was  for  your  sake,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  I  presume  it  was  for  his  own  sake,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I 
should  think  anybody  who  had  the  privilege  of  being  Mr.  Land- 
holm's  friend,  would  know  how  to  value  it." 

"  You  would  value  it,  for  instance,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  have  no  doubt  I  should." 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  are  a  little  too  sure  of  valuing  it,"  said 
Mr.  Haye, — "  for  a  young  lady  who  has  not  that  privilege." 

Elizabeth's  cheeks  burned  on  the  instant,  but  her*  eye  was 
steady,  and  it  looked  full  on  her  father  while  she  asked  him, 

"  Why,  sir  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  worth  while  for  you  to  like  other  people  iaster  than 
they  like  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " — said  Elizabeth,  her  cheek  and  eye  both  deep- 
ening in  their  fire,  but  her  look  as  steady  and  full, — "  Why  not  ? — 
if  it  should  happen  that  I  am  less  likeable  than  they  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mr.  Haye. 

u  If  I  were  to  gauge  the  respect  and  esteem  I  give  others,  by 
the  respect  and  esteem  they  might  be  able  to  give  me, — I  should 
cut  off  maybe  the  best  pleasures  of  my  life." 

"  Are  respect  and  esteem  the  best  pleasures  of  your  life  ?  " 
said  Rose  satirically. 

"  I  have  never  known  any  superior  to  them,"  said  Elizabeth. 
But  she  brought,  as  she  spoke,  her  eye  of  fire  to  bear  upon  her 
cousin,  who  gave  way  before  it  and  was  mum. 

"  And  what  may  respect  and  esteem  lead  to  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  And  I  don't  care — even 
to  ask." 

"  Suppose  they  are  not  returned  ?  " 

"  I  have  supposed  that  in  the  first  place,"  she  answered. 

"  At  that  rate  you  might  be  over  head  and  ears  in  your  re- 
gard for  several  people  at  once,  none  of  whom  cared  a  straw  for 
you,"  said  Mr.  Haye. 

"  When  I  find  several,  men  or  women,  that  deserve  the  sort 
of  respect  and  esteem  I  am  talking  of,"  said  Elizabeth — "  I  am 
not  talking  of  a  common  kind,  that  you  can  give  common  people 
— I  shall  be  in  a  new  world !  " 

"  And  have  you  this  sort  of '  respect  and  esteem '  for  Mr.  Win- 
throp  Landholm  ?  "  said  her  father. 

"  That's  another  question,"  said  Elizabeth,  for  the  first  time 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  309 

dropping  her  eye  and  speaking  more  quietly ; — "  I  was  talking  of 
the  general  principle." 

"  And  I  am  asking  of  the  particular  instance.  Have  you 
this  respect  and  esteem  for  this  particular  person  of  your  ac- 
quaintance ?  " 

"  I  never  gave  it  to  many  people  in  my  life,"  said  Elizabeth, 
colouring  again  somewhat.  "  He  has  as  fair  a  share  of  it  as 
most  have." 

"  A  little  more  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye  smiling. 

This  time  the  answer  she  flashed  at  him  was  of  proud  and  in- 
dignant bar  to  any  further  questioning — with  her  eyes  only ;  her 
lips  did  not  move. 

"  Does  he  know  it,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Know  what,  sir  ?  " 

"  This  favour  you  have  expressed  for  him." 

"  I  have  expressed  nothing  but  what  I  would  express  for  any 
one  to  whom  I  thought  it  due." 

"  But  I  ask,  does  he  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  feel  injured,  father,  by  your  asking  me  such  questions ! — 
I  presume  he  does  not  know,  since  he  has  not  had  the  honour  of 
being  told ! " 

The  air  with  which  this  was  given  was  regal. 

"  I  wouldn't  tell  him,  Lizzie,"  said  her  father  quietly. 

But  at  the  insinuation  conveyed  in  these  words,  Elizabeth's 
mood  took  another  turn. 

"  I  will  tell  whomsoever  it  may  concern  to  know,  at  any  time 
when  I  see  occasion,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
ashamed  of;  and  I  will  neither  do  nor  think  anything  I  am  un- 
willing to  own." 

"  You  had  better  reform  public  opinion  in  the  first  place," 
said  Mr.  Haye  dryly. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  said  with  startling  quickness. 

"  It  is  apt  to  hold  rather  light  of  young  ladies  who  tell  their 
minds  without  being  asked." 

"  How  can  you  speak  so,  father  ! — I  said,  when  I  saw  occa- 
sion— it  seems  I  have  very  much  misjudged  in  the  present 
instance." 

"And  as  that  might  happen  again,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  "  it  is 
just  as  safe,  on  the  whole,  that  the  person  in  question  does  not 
come  here  any  more.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  advertised  his  place 
for  sale." 

"  What  I  "  exclaimed  Elizabeth  and  Rose  both  at  once. 

"  Hush — don't  fire  at  a  man  in  that  way.  His  father's  place, 
I  should  say." 


310  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  What  have  you  done  to  it  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Advertised  it  for  sale.  You  don't  hear  me  as  well  as  you 
do  Mr.  Satterthwaite,  it  seems." 

"  How  come  you  to  have  it  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  mortgaged  to  me — years  ago — and  I  can't 
get  either  principal  or  interest ;  so  I  am  taking  the  best  way  1 
can  to  secure  my  rights." 

"  But  Mr..Landholm  was  your  friend  ?  " 

''  Certainly — but  I  am  a  better  friend  to  myself.  Can't  do 
business  with  your  friends  on  different  principles  from  those  you 
go  upon  with  other  people,  Lizzie." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him,  with  eyes  that  would  have  annihi- 
lated a  large  portion  of  Mr.  Haye's  principles,  if  they  had  been 
sentient  things.  Rose  began  a  running  fire  of  entreaties  that  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Shahweetah,  for  that  she  could 
not  bear  the  place.  Elizabeth  brought  her  eyes  back  to  her 
plate,  but  probably  she  still  saw  Mr.  Haye  there,  for  the  expres- 
sion of  them  did  not  change. 

"  Tm  not  going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  place, 
Rose,"  said  Mr.  Haye — "  further  than  to  get  it  off  my  hands.  I 
don't  want  to  live  there  any  more  than  you  do.  All  I  want  to 
do  is  to  pay  myself." 

"  Father,"  said  Elizabeth  looking  up  quietly,  "  Til  buy  it  of 
you." 

"  You  t  "  said  Mr.  Haye, — while  Rose  went  off  into  a  succes- 
sion of  soft  laughs. 

"  Do  you  care  who  does  it,  so  that  you  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  No, — but  what  will  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Find  a  way,  in  time,  of  conveying  it  back  to  its  right 
owners,"  said  Rose.     "  Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Haye  ?  " 

Elizabeth  favoured  her  with  a  look  which  effectually  spiked 
that  little  gun ,  for  the  time,  and  turned  her  attention  again  to 
her  father. 

"  Do  you  care  who  buys  it  of  you,  so  that  you  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  Why  no — but  you  don't  want  such  a  piece  of  property, 
Lizzie." 

"I  want  just  such  a  piece  of  property." 

"  But  my  child,  you  can't  manage  it.  It  would  be  an  absurd 
spending  of  your  money.  There's  a  farm  of  two  or  three  hundred 
acres — more, — besides  woodland.     What  could  you  do  with  it?" 

"  Trust  me  to  take  care  of  my  own.     May  I  have  it,  father?" 

u  Mr.  Haye  ! — "  Rose  put  in,  pouting  and  whimpering,-—"  I 
wish  you'd  tell  Lizzie  she's  not  to  look  at  me  so  I — " 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  311 

"  Will  you  sell  it  to  me  ?  "   pursued  Elizabeth. 

"  If  you'll  promise  it  shall  not  go  back  to  the  original  owners 
in  any  such  way  as  Rose  hinted." 

"  Are  those  your  terms  of  sale  ?  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  Because, 
though  I  may  not  choose  to  submit  myself  to  them,  I  can  find 
you  another  purchaser." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  a  great  piece  of  land  like  that  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  I  want  the  land  itself." 

"  You  can't  do  anything  with  it." 

"  It  don't  signify,  if  it  all  grows  up  to  nettles  !  "  said  Eliza- 
beth. "  Will  you  take  the  money  of  me  and  let  me  take  the  land 
of  you?" 

"  Hum — "  said  Mr.  Haye, — "  I  think  you  have  enlightened 
me  too  much  this  morning.  No — I'll  find  a  more  disinterested 
purchaser ;  and  let  it  teach  you  to  take  care  of  your  eyes  as  well 
as  your  tongue." 

Rose  bridled.  Mr.  Haye  got  up  leisurely  from  the  breakfast- 
table  and  was  proceeding  slowly  to  the  door,  when  his  path  was 
crossed  by  his  daughter.     She  stood  still  before  him. 

He  might  well  tell  her  to  take  care  of  her  eyes.  They  glowed 
in  their  sockets  as  she  confronted  him,  while  her  cheek  was  as 
blanched  as  a  fire  at  the  heart  could  leave  it.  Mr.  Haye  was  ab- 
solutely startled  and  stood  as  still  as  she. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  take  care  how  you  drive  me  too  far ! 
You  have  had  some  place  in  my  heart,  but  I  warn  you  it  is  in 
danger. — If  you  care  for  it,  I  warn  you ! — " 

She  was  gone,  like  a  flash ;  and  Mr.  Haye  after  casting  a  sort 
of  scared  look  behind  him  at  his  wife,  went  off  too ;  probably 
thinking  he  had  got  enough  for  one  morning. 

No  doubt  Elizabeth  felt  so  for  her  part.  She  had  gone  to  her 
own  room,  where  she  put  herself  on  a  low  seat  by  the  window  and 
sat  with  labouring  breath  and  heaving  bosom,  and  the  fire  in  her 
heart  and  in  her  eyes  glowing  still,  though  she  looked  now  as  if 
it  were  more  likely  to  consume  herself  than  anybody  else.  If 
herself  was  not  present  to  her  thoughts,  they  were  busy  with 
nothing  then  present ;  but  the  fire  burned. 

While  she  sat  there,  Clam  came  in,  now  one  of  the  smartest  of 
gay-turbaned  handmaidens,  and  began  an  elaborate  dusting  of 
the  apartment.  She  began  at  the  door,  and  by  the  time  she  had 
worked  round  to  Elizabeth  at  the  window,  she  had  made  by  many 
times  a  more  careful  survey  of  her  mistress  than  of  any  piece  of 
furniture  in  the  room.  Elizabeth's  head  had  drooped ;  and  her 
eyes  were  looking,  not  vacantly,  but  with  no  object  in  view,  out 
of  the  window. 


312  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  I  guess  you  want  my  friend  here  just  now,  Miss  'Lizabeth," 
said  Clam,  her  lips  parting  just  enough  to  show  the  line  of  white 
between  them. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  your  friend  ?  " 

"  0 — Governor  Landholm,  to  be  sure — he  used  to  fix  every- 
body straight  whenever  he  come  home  to  Wuttle  Quttle." 

Elizabeth  passed  over  the  implication  that  she  wanted  '  fix- 
ing,' and  asked,  "  How  ? — " 

"  i"  don'  know.  He  used  to  put  'em  all  in  order,  in  less'n 
no  time,"  said  Clam,  going  over  and  over  the  dressing-table  with 
her  duster,  as  that  piece  of  furniture  kept  her  near  her  mistress. 
"  Mis'  Landholm  used  to  get  her  face  straight  the  minute  his  two 
feet  sounded  outside  the  house,  and  she'd  keep  it  up  as  long  as  he 
stayed ;  and  Winifred  stopped  to  be  queer  and  behaved  like  a 
Christian ;  and  nobody  else  in  the  house  hadn't  a  chance  to  take 
airs  but  himself." 

"  What  sort  of  airs  did  he  take  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"01  don'  know,"  said  Clam ; — "  his  sort ; — they  wa'n't  like 
nobody  else's  sort." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  airs  ? 

"  Can't  tell,"  said  Clam, — "  nothin'  like  yours,  Miss  'Lizabeth, 
— I  take  a  notion  to  wish  he  was  here,  once  in  a  while — it  wouldn't 
do  some  folks  no  harm." 

"  Didn't  his  coming  put  you  in  order  too  ?  " 

Clam  gave  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  infinitely  knowing  and 
satisfied  at  the  same  time,  and  once  more  and  more  broadly 
shewed  the  white  ivory  between  her  not  unpretty  parted  teeth. 

"  I  think  you  want  putting  in  order  now,"  said  her  mistress. 

"  Always  did,"  said  Clam  with  a  slight  arch  of  her  eyebrows, 
— "  always  shall.  Best  get  him  to  manage  it,  Miss  'Lizabeth — 
he  can  do  it  quicker  'n  anybody  else — for  me, — and  I  dare  say 
he  would  for  you." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  ever  were  put  in  order,"  said  Elizabeth, 
— "  to  stay." 

"  I  didn't  use  to  do  a  wrong  thing  as  long  as  he  was  in  the 
house  !  "  said  Clam.  "  Didn't  want  to. — You  wouldn't  neither, 
if  you  was  in  the  house  with  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  Mrs.  Landholm's  getting  her  face 
straight  when  he  came  ? — was'nt  it  always  so  ?  " 

"  'Twa'n't  always  so,"  said  Clam, — "  for  when  he  come,  half 
the  wrinkles  went  away,  and  the  grey  hairs  all  turned  black 
again." 

There  came  such  a  pang  to  Elizabeth's  heart,  such  a  gush  to 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  313 

her  eyes,  that  she  hid  her  face  on  her  knees  and  heard  nothing 
of  what  her  handmaid  said  for  a  long  time  after.  If  Clam  talked, 
she  had  the  talk  all  to  herself;  and  when  Elizabeth  at  last  raised 
her  head,  her  handmaiden  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fireplace  looking  at  her,  and  probably  making  up  her  mind  that 
she  wanted  '  fixing '  very  much.  There  was  no  further  discussion 
of  the  subject,  however ;  for  Miss  Haye  immediately  called  for 
her  bonnet  and  veil,  wrapped  herself  in  a  light  scarf  and  went 
out.  The  door  had  hardly  closed  upon  her  when  the  bell  rang 
again,  and  she  came  running  up-stairs  to  her  room. 

"  Clam,  get  me  the  newspaper." 

"  What  news,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  All  the  newspapers — every  one  you  can  find ; — yesterday's 
and  to-day's,  or  the  day  before." 

Much  wondering,  Clam  hunted  the  house  and  brought  the 
fruits  of  her  search;  and  much  more  wondering,  she  saw  her 
mistress  spend  one  hour  in  closely  poring  over  the  columns  of 
page  after  page ;  she  who  never  took  five  minutes  a  day  to  read 
the  papers.  At  last  a  little  bit  was  carefully  cut  from  one  of 
those  Clam  had  brought  up,  and  Elizabeth  again  prepared  her- 
self to  go  forth. 

"  If  it  had  been  Mr.  Winthrop,  now,  who  was  doing  that,"  said 
Clam,  "  he'd  have  took  off  his  hat  most  likely,  and  sat  down  to 
it.     How  you  do  look,  Miss  'Lizabeth  !  " 

"  Mr.  "Winthrop  and  I  are  two  different  people,"  said  Eliza- 
beth, hurriedly  putting  on  the  one  glove  she  had  drawn  off. 

"  Must  grow  a  little  more  like  before  you'll  be  one  and  the 
same,"  observed  Clam. 

Elizabeth  let  down  her  veil  over  her  face  and  went  out 
again. 

With  a  quick  nervous  step  she  went,  though  the  day  was 
warm,  making  no  delay  and  suffering  no  interruption ;  till  she 
reached  the  University  where  Professor  Herder  made  his  daily 
and  nightly  abode.  The  professor  was  attending  one  of  his 
classes.     Elizabeth  asked  to  be  shewn  to  his  room. 

She  felt  as  if  she  was  on  a  queer  errand,  as  she  followed  her 
conductor  up  the  wide  stone  stairs  and  along  the  broad  corridors, 
where  the  marks  were  evidently  of  only  man's  use  and  habita- 
tion, and  now  and  then  a  man's  whistle  or  footstep  echoed  from 
the  distance  through  the  halls.  But  she  went  on  swiftly,  from 
one  corridor  to  another,  till  the  guide  opened  a  door  and  she 
stepped  out  from  the  public  haunts  of  life  to  a  bit  of  quite 
seclusion. 

14 


314:  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

It  was  a  pleasant  enough  place  that  Mr.  Herder  called  home, 
A  large,  airy,  light,  high-ceiled  apartment,  where  plainly  even  to 
a  stranger's  eye,  the  naturalist  had  grouped  and  bestowed  around 
him  all  the  things  he  best  liked  to  live  among.  Enormous  glass 
cases,  filled  with  the  illustrations  of  science,  and  not  less  of  the  phi- 
losopher's investigating  patience,  lined  all  the  room ;  except  where 
dark-filled  shelves  of  books  ran  up  between  them  from  the  floor  to 
the  ceiling.  A  pleasant  cloth-covered  table,  with  books  and  phi- 
losophical instruments,  stood  towards  one  side  of  the  room,  a 
little  table  with  a  lamp  at  the  other ;  and  scattered  about,  all 
over,  were  big  stout  comfortable  well-worn  leather  arm-chairs, 
that  said  study  and  learning  sat  easy  there  and  often  received 
visits  of  pleasure  in  that  room.  Elizabeth  felt  herself  as  little 
akin  to  pleasure  as  to  learning  or  study,  just  then.  She  put  her- 
self in  one  of  the  great  leather  chairs,  with  a  sense  of  being  out 
of  her  element — a  little  piece  of  busy,  bustling,  practical  life, 
within  the  very  palings  of  science  and  wisdom. 

She  sat  and  waited.  But  that  pulse  of  busy  life  beat  never 
the  cooler  for  all  the  cool  aspect  of  the  place  and  the  grave  shade 
of  wisdom  that  lingered  there ;  nay,  it  throbbed  faster  and  more 
flutteringly.  She  got  up  to  try  the  power  of  distraction  the 
glass  cases  might  hold ;  but  her  eye  roved  restlessly  and  care- 
lessly over  object  and  object  of  interest  that  withheld  its  in- 
terest from  her  ;  and  weariedly  she  went  back  to  her  arm-chair 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  that  her  mind  might  be  at 
least  uninterruptedly  busy  in  its  own  way. 

It  must  have  been  very  busy,  or  the  quick  little  step  of  the 
German  professor  must  have  been  very  soft  withal ;  for  he  had 
come  within  a  few  feet  of  her  before  he  knew  who  she  was  or  she 
knew  that  he  was  there. 

"  Miss  £lisabet' !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  most  good-humoured 
face  of  wonderment, — "  I  never  was  so  honoured  before  !  How 
did  you  get  in  my  arm-chair  ?  " 

Elizabeth  jumped  up  and  shook  hands  with  him,  laughing  in 
very  relief  to  see  him  come. 

"  How  did  I  get  here  ? — I  came  up  through  the  sun,  Mr. 
Herder." 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  come  in  better  time,"  said  the  natural- 
ist,— "  that  is,  better  for  you — dis  is  very  good  time  for  me.  I 
have  nozing  to  do,  and  I  will  give  you  lesson  in  whatever  you 
want." 

"  No  sir, — I  am  come  to  give  you  a  lesson,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Me  ?    Well,  I  will  take  it,"  said  the  naturalist,  who  began 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  315 

at  the  same  time  to  run  about  his  room  and  open  closet  doors  and 
jingle  glasses  together,  apparently  on  his  own  business, — "  I  like 
always  to  take  lessons, — it  is  not  often  that  I  have  such  a  teacher. 
I  will  learn  the  best  I  can — after  I  have  got  you  some  lemonade. 
I  have  two  lemons  here, — somevere, — ah  ! — " 

"  I  don't  want  it,  Mr.  Herder."     * 

"  I  cannot  learn  nozing  till  you  have  had  it,"  said  Mr.  Her- 
der bringing  his  lemons  and  glasses  to  the  table ; — "  that  sun  is 
beating  my  head  what  was  beating  yours,  and  it  cannot  think  of 
nozing  till  I  have  had  something  to  cool  him  off. — " 

Elizabeth  sat  still,  and  looked,  and  thought,  with  her  heart 
beating. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  was  in  my  room  when  I  see  you  in  my 
chair  wiz  your  head  down — you  must  be  study  more  hard  than 
me,  Miss  Elisabet' — I  never  put  my  head  down,  for  nozing." 

"  Nor  your  heart  either,  I  wonder  ?  "  thought  Elizabeth. 

"  I  was  studying,  Mr.  Herder, — pretty  hard." 

"  Is  that  what  you  are  going  to  give  me  to  study  ?  "  said  the 
naturalist. 

"  Not  exactly — it  was  something  about  it.  I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me,  Mr.  Herder, — if  I  may  ask  you, — and  if  you 
will  be  so  very  kind  as  to  take  some  trouble  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  like  trouble,"  said  the  naturalist  shaking  his  head 
good-humouredly  over  a  squeeze  of  his  lemon ; — "  dere  is  no  use 
in  having  trouble — I  get  out  of  it  so  soon  as  I  can — but  I  will 
get  in  it  wiz  pleasure  for  you,  Miss  Elisabet' — what  you  tell  me 
— if  you  will  tell  me  if  that  is  too  much  sucker." 

u  To  take  trouble,  and  to  be  in  trouble,  are  not  quite  the  same 
thing,  Mr.  Herder,"  said  Elizabeth,  having  at  the  moment  a  vivid 
realization  of  the  difference. 

"  I  thought  trouble  was  trouble,"  said  the  naturalist,  finishing 
the  preparing  his  own  glass  of  lemonade.  "  If  you  will  lesson 
me  to  find  trouble  is  no  trouble — Miss  Elisabet' — I  will  thank 
you  much  for  that." 

Elizabeth  heartily  wished  anybody  could  teach  her  that  par- 
ticular lesson.  She  sipped  her  lemonade,  slowly  and  abstractedly, 
busy  yet  with  the  study  which  Mr.  Herder  had  broken  oft*;  while 
he  talked  benignly  and  kindly,  to  ears  that  did  not  hear.  But 
the  last  of  Elizabeth's  glass  was  swallowed  hastily  and  the  glass 
set  down. 

"  Mr.  Herder,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for 
me." 

"  I  am  honoured,  Miss  Elisabet',"  said  the  philosopher  bowing. 


316  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Will  you  not  speak  of  it  to  anybody?  " 

"  Not  speak  of  it ! "  said  the  naturalist.  "  Then  it  is  a 
secret  ? " 

The  quick  energetic  little  bend  of  Elizabeth's  head  said  be- 
fore her  lips  spoke  the  word,  "  Yes  !  " 

"  It  is  more  honour  yet,"  he  said.  "  What  am  I  to  do,  Miss 
Elisabet'  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  if  it  will  be  any  real  trouble  to  you,  Mr.  Herder. 
Promise  me  that  first." 

"  Promise  ? — what  shall  I  promise  ?  " — said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  Promise  me  that  if  what  I  am  going  to  ask  would  be  any 
real  trouble  to  you  or  to  your  business,  you  will  tell  me  so." 

"  I  do  not  love  to  be  troubled,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  It 
shall  not  be  no  trouble  to  me." 

"  But  promise  me  that  you  will  tell  me,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Suppose  you  was  to  tell  me  first.  I  cannot  tell  nozing  till 
I  know." 

"  You  will  not  speak  of  it  to  anybody,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  nozing,  Miss  Elisabet'." 

"  Mr.  Herder,  there  is  a  piece  of  land  which  I  want  to  buy ; 
and  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  if  you  can,  and  if  you  will,  to  buy  it 
for  me." 

"  Miss  Elisabet',"  said  the  naturalist  looking  a  little  sur- 
prised at  his  fair  questioner, — "  I  will  tell  you  the  truth — I  have 
no  money." 

"  I  have,  Mr.  Herder.  But  I  cannot  go  into  the  market  and 
buy  for  myself." 

"  Cer-tain-ly,  you  cannot  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Herder.  "  But 
what  is  it  you  wish  to  buy  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  farm,< — "  said  Elizabeth,  feeling  glad  that  her  back 
was  to  the  light ; — "  it  is  a  piece  of  land  in  the  country — up  on 
the  Shatemuc  river.  I  think  you  have  been  there,  Mr.  Herder, 
— it  is  the  place  where  the  Landholms'  father  lives.  Wut-a-qut-o, 
they  call  it — or  Shahweetah; — Wut-a-qut-o  is  the  mountain 
opposite." 

"  Landholm !  "  cried  the  naturalist.  "Is  it  Winthrop's 
place?" 

Elizabeth  bowed  her  head  and  answered,  "  His  father's." 

"  Winthrop's  place  !    Is  that  what  you  want,  Miss  Elisabet  ?  " 

Elizabeth  bowed  her  head  again,  this  time  without  answering. 

"  Suppose  they  might  not  want  to  sell  it  ?  "  said  the  natu- 
ralist. 

"  They  do  not — but  they  can't  help  themselves.  It  must  be 
sold — they  can't  pay  money  that  is  owing  upon  it." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  317 

"  Money !  " — said  the  naturalist ; — "  that  is  de  trouble  of  all 
that  is  in  the  world.  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as  money  ! 
It  makes  all  the  mischief." 

"  Or  the  want  of  it,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  naturalist, — "  it  is  not  that !  I  have  want 
money  all  my  life,  Miss  Elisabet',  and  I  have  never  got  into  no 
trouble  at  all." 

"  Except  when  you  fought  the  duels,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Dat  was  not  no  trouble  ! "  said  the  philosopher.  "  There 
was  nozing  about  money  there ;  and  it  was  not  no  trouble, — 
neizer  before,  neizer  after." 

"  I  have  had  money  all  my  life ;  and  it  never  made  me  any 
trouble." 

"Ah  you  have  not  come  to  the  time,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 
"  Wait,  you  will  find  it.  Now  you  are  in  trouble  because  you 
want  to  buy  this  ground,  and  you  could  not  do  it  wizout 
money." 

"  I  can't  do  it  with,  unless  you  will  help  me,  Mr.  Herder — 
you  or  somebody." 

"  I  could  get  somebody,"  said  Mr.  Herder  ; — "  I  know  some- 
body what  I  could  get." 

"  I  don't  know  anybody  who  would  be  as  good  as  you,  sir." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Haye  ? — is  he 
sick?" 

"  No  sir, — I  don't  wish  him  to  know  anything  about  it,  Mr. 
Herder. — He  is  the  person  making  the  sale." 

"  Your  father  ? — do  you  mean  that  Mr.  Haye  is  the  man  what 
is  selling  the  ground  of  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir.     And  I  wish  to  buy  it." 

"  Then  Miss  Elisabet',  what  for  do  you  not  ask  my  frieiio. 
Winthrop  to  buy  it  for  you  ?  He  knows  all  business.  He  will 
do  it." 

u  I  cannot — I  have  not  the  liberty — He  is  not  enough  a  friend 
of  mine,  for  me  to  ask  him  such  a  favour." 

"  But  Miss  Elisabet',  what  will  you  do  wiz  all  that  large 
ground  and  water  ?  " 

"  Buy  it, — first,  sir ;  and  then  I  will  see.     I  want  it." 

"  I  see  you  do,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  Well,  then  I  shall  get 
it  for  you — if  I  can — I  hope  your  money  will  not  get  me  in 
trouble." 

"  If  you  are  at  all  afraid  of  that,  Mr.  Herder,  I  will  find 
some  other  way " 

"  I  never  was  afraid  of  nozing  in  my  life,  Miss  Elisabet' — 


318  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   6HATEMUC. 

only  I  do  not  know  neizer  how  to  get  money,  neizer  how  to 
spend  it — in  this  way.  What  will  Mr.  Haye  say  to  me  when  I 
go  to  buy  all  this  great  land  of  him  ?     He  will  say " 

"  You're  not  to  buy  it  of  him,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  No  ?  "  said  the  naturalist.  "  Of  who,  then  ?  I  thought 
you  said  he  was  going  to  sell  it." 

"  Yes,  he  is — but  he  has  somebody  else  to  do  it  for  him. 
Here,  Mr.  Herder, — here  is  the  advertisement ; — see — don't  read 
the  first  part, — all  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it, — here  is  the 
place.  '  At  the  Merchant's  Exchange,  in  the  city  of  Mannahatta, 
on  the  first  day  of  September,  1821,  at  12  o'clock  noon  of  that  day ' 
— and  then  comes  the  description  of  the  place.  It  is  to  be  sold 
at  public  auction." 

"  Auc-sion  ? — "  said  the  naturalist. 

"  It's  to  be  sold  in  public,  to  whoever  offers  to  give  most 
for  it." 

"  0,  I  know  that,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  And  dear  Mr.  Herder,  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  be  there,  at  12 
o'clock  the  first  of  September,  and  buy  it  for  me ;  and  let  nobody 
know.     Can  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  so  much,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  I  think  I  can.  But 
suppose  somebody  will  give  more  than  you." 

"  Do  not  suppose  that,  sir.     I  will  give  more  than  anybody." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  will  ?  "  said  the  naturalist.  "  Maybe  you 
do  not  know." 

"  I  do  know,  sir,  and  am  sure." 

"  "Well,"  said  the  naturalist,  shaking  his  head, — "  I  do  not 
know  much  about  buying  grounds — I  do  know  a  leetle  of  some 
things — but  I  do  not  know  what  sort  of  a  lesson  is  this,  Miss  Elisa- 
bet'.  But  I  will  see  if  I  can  do  it.  Who  is  going  to  live  up  there 
wiz  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  can  live  alone,  Mr.  Herder." 

"  No,  not  there,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  You  want  some  one 
to  take  care  of  you — de  engineer,  Miss  Elisabet',"  said  he 
smiling. 

Elizabeth  made  no  answer ;  she  had  risen  up  to  go ;  and  he 
guided  her  through  the  halls  and  down  the  staircases,  till  she 
was  in  the  open  street  again.  Then,  after  a  farewell  squeeze  of 
his  hand  and  nod  of  her  little  head,  she  pulled  her  veil  down  and 
went  homeward,  more  slowly  than  she  had  come. 

" Do  I  want  somebody  to  take  care  of  me?"  she  thought. 
"  I  believe  I  do  !  An  engineer  ? — I  do  not  think  the  engine  is 
under  very  good  guidance —  it  is  too  strong  for  me — How  could 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTTC.  319 

he  know  that  ?  Oh  what  earthly  thing  would  I  give,  for  a  hand 
wise  and  strong  enough  to  lead  me,  and  good  enough  that  j.  could 
submit  myself  to !  " 

The  wish  was  so  deep  drawn  that  her  breast  heaved  with  it 
and  starting  tears  made  her  draw  her  veil  thicker  before  them 
She  bit  her  lip,  and  once  more  quickened  her  steps  towards  home 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass, — 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze, 

Where,  as  the  breezes  pass, 
The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways, — 
Of  leaves  that  slumber  in  a  cloudy  mass, 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind, — of  waters  blue 
That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 
Some  woodland  gap, — and  of  a  sky  above, 
Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb  doth  move. 

Lowell. 

Finding  that  the  old  farm  must  pass  out  of  his  hands,  Mr. 
Landholm  made  up  his  mind  not  to  spend  another  summer  of  la- 
bour and  of  life  upon  it ;  but  at  once  with  his  son  Asahel  to  move 
off  to  the  West.  He  stayed  but  to  reap  the  standing  crops  of  win- 
ter grain,  dispose  of  stock,  and  gather  up  all  the  loose  ends  of  bus- 
iness ;  and  left  the  hills  of  the  Shatemuc,  to  seek  better  fortunes 
on  a  Western  level. 

They  passed  through  Mannahatta  on  their  way,  that  they 
might  have  a  short  sight  of  Winthrop  and  Winifred  and  say  good- 
bye to  them.  It  was  not  so  joyful  a  visit  that  anybody  wished  it 
to  be  a  long  one. 

"  It's  pretty  hard,"  said  the  farmer,  "  to  start  life  anew  again 

at  my  time  of  day; but  these  arms  are  not  worn  out  yet;  I 

guess  they'll  do  something — more  or  less — on  a  new  field." 

"  Asahel's  got  strong  arms,  father,"  said  Winifred,  who  was 
fain  to  put  in  a  word  of  comfort  when  she  could. 

"  Ay,  and  a  strong  heart  too,"  said  his  father.  "  He's  a  fine 
fellow.  He'll  do,  I  guess,  in  the  long  run, — at  the  West  or  some- 
where ;  and  at  the  West  if  anywhere,  they  say.  I'm  not  concerned 
much  about  him." 

"  There's  no  need,  I  think,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Where's  Will  ?— and  what's  he  doing  ?  " 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  321 

"  Will  has  just  set  off  for  Charleston — on  some  agency  bus- 
iness." 

"  Charleston  in  South  Carolina  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  he  is  not  engineering  now  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  How  long  does  he  expect  to  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Some  months — more  or  less; — I  don't  know." 

"  Is  it  a  good  business  for  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  chosen  it,— not  I." 

"  I  would  sooner  trust  your  choice,"  said  the  father.  "  There's 
one  thing  Rufus  wants ;  and  that  is,  judgment." 

"  He'll  do  yet,"  said  Winthrop.  "  And  I  shall  not  leave  you 
long  at  the  West,  father.     You  will  come  when  I  send  for  you  ?  " 

"  No,  my  boy,"  said  the  farmer  looking  gratified ; — "  I'll  live 
by  my  own  hands  as  long  as  I  have  hands  to  live  by ;  and  as  I 
said,  mine  haven't  given  out  yet !     No — if  the  Lord  prospers  us, 

we'll  have  a  visit  from  you  and  Winnie  out  there,  I  expect by 

and  by,  when  we  get  things  in  order ;— you  and  Winnie,  ind 

anybody  else  you've  a  mind  to  bring  along ! " 

It  was  spoken  heartily,  but  with  a  tear  in  the  eye ;  and  no- 
body answered;  unless  it  were  answer,  the  long  breath  which 
Winnie  drew  at  the  very  idea  of  such  a  visit. 

Winthrop  heard  it ;  but  through  the  long  weeks  of  summer  he 
could  give  her  nothing  more  of  country  refreshment  than  the  old 
walks  on  the  Green  and  an  occasional  ride  or  walk  on  the  opposite 
shore  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  rivers  that  bordered  the  city. 
Business  held  him  fast,  with  a  grip  that  he  must  not  loosen ; 
though  he  saw  and  knew  that  his  little  sister's  face  grew  daily 
more  thiit  and  pale,  and  that  her  slight  frame  was  slighter  and 
slighter.  His  arm  had  less  and  less  to  do,  even  though  her  need 
called  for  more.  He  felt  as  if  she  was  slipping  away  from  him. 
August  came. 

"  Winnie,"  said  he  one  evening,  when  he  came  home  and  found 
her  lying  on  her  couch  as  usual, — "  how  would  you  like  to  go  up 
and  pay  Karen  a  visit  ?  " 

"  Karen  ?  " said  Winnie,—"  where  ?  " 

"  At  home. — At  Wut-a-qut-o." 

"  Wut-a-qut-o !  "  said  Winnie ; — "  is  Karen  there  ?  I  thought 
Shahweetah  was  sold." 

"It  isn't  sold  yet— it  won't  be  till  September — and  Karen 
is  there  yet,  keeping  house  with  her  brother  Anderese." 

"  Anderese ! — is  old  Anderese  there  ?  "  said  Winnie.  "01 
14* 


322  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMITO. 

should  like  to  go,  Governor!"  she  said  raising  herself  on  hex 
elbow.     "  Can  we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like.  Hildebrand  Cowslip  is  down  here  with 
his  father's  sloop how  would  you  like  to  go  up  in  her  ?  " 

"  In  the  sloop  ? — 0  how  good !  "  said  Winnie  bringing  her 
thin  hands  together.  "  Can  we  ?  But  dear  Governor,  you  can't 
be  away  ?  " 

"  Yes — just  as  well  as  not.  There  isn't  much  doing  in  August 
— everybody  takes  a  resting  time ;  and  so  you  and  I  will,  Win- 
nie," said  he,  bending  down  to  kiss  her. 

Winnie  looked  up  at  him  gratefully  and  lovingly  with  her 
wistful  large  eyes,  the  more  expressive  from  the  setting  of  illness 
and  weakness  in  the  face. 

"  I'd  like  you  to  have  a  rest,  dear  Governor." 

He  stood  stroking  back  the  ringlets  from  the  thin  blue- veined 
temple. 

"  Wouldn't  it  do  you  good  to  see  Wut-a-qut-o  again  ?  " 

"  0  I  am  sure  it  would ! — And  you  too,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  good  enough  already,"  said  Winthrop  looking  down  at 
her. 

"  Too  good,"  said  Winnie  looking  up  at  him.  "  I  guess  you 
want  pulling  down  !  " 

She  had  learned  to  read  his  face  so  well,  that  it  was  with  a 
pang  she  saw  the  look  with  which  he  turned  off  to  his  work.  A 
stranger  could  not  have  seen  in  it  possibly  anything  but  his  com- 
mon grave  look ;  to  Winnie  there  was  the  slight  shadow  of  some- 
thing which  seemed  to  say  the  '  pulling  down '  had  not  to  be  waited 
for.  So  slight  that  she  could  hardly  tell  it  was  there,  yet  so  sha- 
dowy she  was  sure  it  had  come  from  something.  It  was  not  in 
the  look  merely — it  was  in  the  air, — it  was,  she  did  not  know 
what,  but  she  felt  it  and  it  made  her  miserable.  She  could  not 
see  it  after  the  first  minute ;  his  face  and  shoulders,  as  he  sat  read- 
ing his  papers,  had  their  usual  calm  stability ;  Winnie  lay  looking 
at  him,  outwardly  calm  too,  but  mentally  tossing  and  turning. 

She  could  not  bear  it.  She  crawled  off  her  couch  and  came 
and  sat  down  at  his  feet,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  knee  and 
looking  up  at  him. 

"  Dear  Governor ! — I  wish  you  had  whatever  would  do  you 
good !— " 

"  The  skill  of  decyphering  would  do  me  a  little  good  just  now,' 
said  her  brother.  She  could  detect  nothing  peculiar  in  look  or 
word,  though  Winnie's  eyes  did  their  best. 

"  But  somehow  I  don't  feel  as  if  you  had,"  she  went  on  to 
eay, 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  323 

"  Where  is  your  faith  ?  " — he  said  quietly,  as  he  made  a  note 
in  the  margin  of  the  paper  he  was  reading.  Winnie  could  make 
nothing  of  him. 

"  Governor,  when  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Hildebrand  moves  his  sloop  off  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  And  shall  we  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  object." 

Winnie  left  the  floor,  clapping  her  hands  together,  and  went 
back  to  her  couch  to  think  over  at  large  the  various  preparations 
which  she  must  make.  Which  pleasant  business  held  her  all  the 
evening. 

They  were  not  large  preparations,  however;  longer  to  think  of 
than  to  do ;  especially  as  Winthrop  took  upon  himself  the  most 
of  what  was  done.  One  or  two  nick-nackeries  of  preparation,  in 
the  shape  of  a  new  basket,  a  new  book,  and  a  new  shawl,  seemed 
delightful  to  Winnie ;  though  she  did  not  immediately  see  what 
she  might  want  of  the  latter  in  August. 

"  We  shall  find  it  cooler  when  we  get  under  the  shadow  of  Wut- 
a-qut-o,  Winnie,"  said  her  brother;  and  Winnie  was  only  too 
glad  of  a  pretext  to  take  the  pretty  warm  wrapper  of  grey  and 
blue  worsted  along. 

She  did  not  want  it  when  they  set  out,  the  next  afternoon. 
It  was  very  warm  in  the  streets,  very  warm  on  the  quays ;  and 
even  when  the  sloop  pushed  her  way  slowly  out  and  left  the  quays 
at  her  back,  there  was  little  air  stirring  and  the  August  sun  beat 
down  steadily  on  river  and  shore. 

"  This  don't  look  much  like  gettin'  up  to  Cowslip's  Mill  this 
night,"  said  the  skipper.     "  Ain't  it  powerful !  " 

"  The  wind  is  coming  off  from  the  South,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Yes,  I  felt  some  little  puffs  on  my  cheek,"  said  Winnie. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  sloop  master,  a  tall,  bony,  ill-set- 
together  specimen  of  a  shore  and  water  man ; — "  there  ain't  enough 
now  to  send  an  egg-shell  along,  and  I'd  like  to  shew  you  a  good 
run,  Mr.  Landholm,  since  you're  goin'  along  with  me.  She  looks 
smart,  don't  she  ?  " 

"  If  she'll  only  work  as  well,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Hild',  you 
haven't  got  much  cargo  aboard." 

"  Only  as  much  as'll  keep  her  steady,"  answered  the  skipper. 
" '  Seems  to  me  nobody  ain't  a  wantin'  nothin'  up  our  ways.  I 
guess  you're  the  heaviest  article  on  board,  Winthrop ; — she  never 
carried  a  lawyer  before." 

"  Are  lawyers  heavy  articles  ?  "  said  Winnie  laughing. 

" '  Cordin'  to  what  I've  heern,  I  should  say  they  be ;  ain't 


324r  THE    HELLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

they,  squire  ? — considerable, — especially  when  they  get  on  folks's 
hands.  I  hope  you're  a  better  sort,  Winthrop, — or  ain't  there 
much  choice  in  'em  ?  " 

"You  shall  try  me  when  you  get  into  trouble,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Cowslip's  old  sloop  ?  "  said  Winnie. 

"  She  don't  look  old,  does  she  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Hildebrand. 

"  But  I  mean,  is  it  the  same  he  used  to  have  ? — No,  she  looks 
very  handsome  indeed." 

"  She's  the  old  one  though,"  said  the  skipper,  "  the  same  old 
Julia  Ann.  What's  the  use  o'  askin'  ladies'  ages  ? — she's  just  as 
good  as  when  she  was  young;  and  better  diessed.  I've  had  the 
cabin  fixed  up  for  you,  Mr.  Landholm, — I  guess  it'll  be  pretty 
comfortable  in  there." 

"  It's  a  great  deal  pleasanter  here,"  said  Winnie.  "  There 
comes  the  wind ! — that  was  a  puff! — " 

"  Well  we're  ready  for  it,"  said  the  skipper. 

And  stronger  puffs  came  after,  and  soon  a  steady  fair  south- 
erly breeze  set  up  the  river  and  sent  the  Julia  Ann  on  before  it. 
Straight  up  the  river  their  course  lay,  without  veering  a  point  for 
miles.  The  sun  was  lowering  towards  the  horizon  and  the  heat 
was  lessening  momently,  even  without  the  south  breeze  which 
bade  it  be  forgotten ;  and  the  blue  waters  of  the  river,  so  sluggish 
a  little  while  ago,  were  briskly  curling  and  rippling,  and  heading 
like  themselves  for  Wut-a-qut-o. 

Winnie  sat  still  and  silent  in  the  shadow  of  the  huge  sail. 
Winthrop  was  standing  close  beside  her,  talking  with  the  skipper ; 
but  he  knew  that  his  little  sister  had  hold  of  his  hand  and  had  laid 
her  unbonneted  head  against  his  arm ;  and  when  the  skipper  left 
him  he  stooped  down  to  her. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Winnie  ?  " 

"  0  Winthrop  ! — how  delicious ! — Aren't  you  glad  it  is  such 
beautiful  world  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  in  particular  ?  " 

"  0  everything.  It  isn't  down  here  like  Wut-a-qut-o,  but  every- 
thing is  so  delicious the  water  and  the  shore  and  the  sunshine 

and  the  wind ! " 

"Poor  Winnie,". said  her  brother  stroking  her  hair, — "you 
haven't  seen  it  in  a  good  while." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  a  glance  which  touchingly  told  him  that 
where  he  was  she  wanted  nothing;  and  then  turned  her  eyes 
again  towards  the  river. 

"  I  was  thinking,  Governor,  that  maybe  I  shall  never  go  up 
here  again." 


TIIE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  325 

"Well  Winnie?—" 

"  I  am  very  glad  I  can  go  this  time.  I  am  so  much  obliged 
to  you  for  bringing  me." 

"  Obliged  to  me,  Winnie !  " 

He  had  placed  himself  behind  his  little  sister,  with  one  hand 
holding  her  lightly  by  each  shoulder ;  and  calm  as  his  tone  was, 
perhaps  there  came  a  sudden  thought  of  words  that  he  knew  very 
well 

"  There  fairer  flowers  than  Eden's  bloom, 

"  Nor  sin  nor  sorrow  know ; 
"  Blest  seats !  through  rude  and  stormy  seas 

"  I  onward  press  to  you." 

For  he  was  silent,  though  his  face  wore  no  more  than  its  ordi- 
nary gravity. 

"  Governor,"  said  Winnie  half  turning  her  head  round  to  him, 
"  I  wish  these  people  were  not  all  round  here  within  hearing,  so 
that  we  could  sing. 1  feel  just  like  it." 

"  By  and  by,  Winnie,  I  dare  say  we  can." 

"  How  *oon  do  you  think  we  shall  get  to  Wut-a-qut-o." 

"  Before  morning,  if  the  wind  holds." 

The  wind  held  fair  and  rather  strengthened  than  lost,  as  the 
evening  went  on.  Under  fine  headway  the  Julia  Ann  swept  up 
the  river,  past  promontory  and  bay,  nearing  and  nearing  her  goal. 
Do  her  best,  however,  the  Julia  Ann  could  not  bring  them  that 
night  to  any  better  sleeping  advantages  than  her  own  little  cabin 
afforded;  and  for  those  Winthrop  and  Winnie  were  in  no  hurry 
to  leave  the  deck.  After  the  skipper's  hospitality  had  been  doubt- 
fully enjoyed  at  supper,  and  after  they  had  refreshed  themselves 
with  seeing  the  sun  set  and  watching  the  many-coloured  clouds  he 
left  behind  him,  the  moon  rose  in  the  other  quarter  and  threw  her 
'  silver  light '  across  the  deck,  just  as  duskiness  was  beginning  to 
steal  on.  The  duskiness  went  on  and  shrouded  the  hills  and  the 
distant  reaches  of  the  river  in  soft  gloom ;  but  on  board  the  Julia 
Ann,  on  her  white  sails  and  deck  floor  where  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter were  sitting,  and  on  a  broad  pathway  of  water  between  them 
and  the  moon,  her  silver  light  threw  itself  with  brightening  and 
broadening  power.  By  and  by  Mr.  Hildebrand's  two  or  three 
helpers  disposed  of  themselves  below  deck,  and  nobody  was  left 
but  Mr.  Hildebrand  himself  at  the  helm. 

"  Now  we  can  sing !  "  exclaimed  Winnie,  when  one  or  two 
turns  of  her  head  had  made  her  sure  of  this ;  and  to  Winthrop's 
surprise  she  struck  up  the  very  words  part  of  which  had  been  in 
his  own  remembrance. 


326  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  *  Jerusalem !  my  happy  home — 

"  '  Name  ever  dear  to  me — 
w  *  When  shall  my  labours  have  an  end, 

" '  In  joy  and  peace  in  thee !  ' " 

Winnie's  voice  was  as  sweet  and  clear  as  a  bird's,  if  weakness 
left  it  not  much  stronger ;  that  of  her  brother  was  deep,  mellow, 
and  exceeding  fine ;  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  skipper  turned  his 
head  and  forgot  his  tiller  to  catch  the  fulness  of  every  note. 
When  the  last  had  sounded,  there  w^s  nothing  to  be  heard  but 
the.  rippling  of  water  under  the  sloop's  prow ;  the  sails  were 
steady  and  full,  the  moonlight  not  more  noiseless  ;  the  wind  swept 
on  with  them  softly,  just  giving  a  silent  breath  to  their  cheeks ; 
the  skipper  held  his  tiller  with  a  moveless  hand. 

"  What  next,  Winnie  ?  "  her  brother  whispered.  The  soft 
gurgle  of  the  water  had  been  heard  for  several  minutes. 

"  How  fond  Karen  is  of  that  hymn,"  said  Winifred.  "  Gov 
vernor,  do  you  think  I  shall  live  long  in  this  world  ?  " 

She  was  leaning,  half  lying,  upon  Winthrop,  with  his  arm 
round  her.  Her  voice  had  put  the  question  in  precisely  the  same 
tone  that  it  had  given  the  remark. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Winnie  ?  " 

"  Because — sometimes  I  think  I  sha'n't, — and  I  want  to  know 
what  you  think." 

"  You  will  live,  I  am  sure,  dear  Winnie,  till  God  has  donr 
for  you  all  he  means  to  do  ; — till  he  has  fitted  his  child  for  heaven  - 
— and  then  he  will  take  her." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Winifred  with  a  grateful  half  look  up  ar 
him ; — "  but  I  mean — you  know  I  am  not  well  quite,  and  weakt 
and  I  don't  think  I  get  any  better ; — don't  you  think  that  it 
won't  take  a  very  great  while,  very  likely  ?  " 

"  How  would  you  feel,  Winnie,  if  you  thought  that  was  so  ?  '* 

"I  do  think  it  sometimes — pretty  often," —  said  Winnie, 
"  and  it  don't  make  me  feel  sorry,  Governor." 

"  You  *hink  heaven  is  better  than  earth." 

"  Yes, — and  then — that's  one  good^  thing  of  my  sickness — it 
don't  seem  as  if  I  ever  could  do  much  if  I  lived,  so  it  matters 
the  less." 

"  Nobody  knows  how  much  he  does,  who  does  his  duty,"  said 
Winthrop. 

"  Why  I  can't  do  anything  at  all !  "  said  Winnie. 

"  Every  talent  that  isn't  buried  brings  something  into  the 
treasury,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Yes — that's  pleasant,"  said  Winnie ; — "  but  I  don't  know 
what  mine  is." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.       •  327 

"  The  good  that  people  do  unconsciously  is  often  more  than 
that  they  intend." 

"  Unconsciously  ! — But  then  they  don*t  know  whether  they  do 
it  or  not?" 

"  It  don't  hurt  them,  not  to  know,"  said  her  brother  smiling. 

"  But  what  sort  of  good-doing  is  that,  "Winthrop  ?  " 

"  It  only  happens  in  the  case  of  those  persons  whose  eye  is 
very  single ; — with  their  eye  full  of  the  light  they  are  reflecting, 
they  cannot  see  the  reflection.  But  it  is  said  of  those  that '  their 
works  do  follow  them.'  " 

Winnie  was  tearfully  silent,  thinking  of  the  ingathering  of 
joy  there  would  be  for  one  that  she  knew ;  and  if  Winthrop's 
arm  was  drawn  a  little  closer  round  her  little  figure  perhaps 
it  was  with  a  like  thought  for  her.  How  bright  the  moonlight 
shone ! 

"  That's  pleasant  to  think,  Governor, — both  parts  of  it,"  said 
Winifred  softly,  beating  his  hand  slightly  with  one  of  her  own. 
He  was  silent. 

"  Now  won't  you  sing  something  else  ? — for  I'm  tired,"  she 
said,  nestling  her  head  more  heavily  on  his  breast. 

And  he  sang  again. 

"  *  Vain  are  all  terrestrial  pleasures, 

"  *  Mixed  with  dross  the  purest  gold  ; 
"  •  Seek  we  then  for  heavenly  treasures, 

"  '  Treasures  never  growing  old. 
"  *  Let  our  best  affections  centre 

"  '  On  the  things  around  the  throne  ; 
"  'There  no  thief  can  ever  enter, — 

"  '  Moth  and  rust  are  there  unknown. 

"  '  Earthly  joys  no  longer  please  us, 

" '  Here  would  we  renounce  them  all, 
" '  Seek  our  only  rest  in  Jesus, 

"  '  Him  our  Lord  and  Master  call. 
"  *  Faith,  our  languid  spirits  cheering, 

"  '  Points  to  brighter  worlds  above ; 
"  '  Bids  us  look  for  his  appearing, 

"  •  Bids  us  triumph  in  his  love. 

"  •  Let  our  lights  be  always  burning, 

"  '  And  our  loins  be  girded  round, 
"  '  Waiting  for  our  Lord's  returning, 

"  '  Longing  for  the  joyful  sound. 
" '  Thus  the  christian  life  adorning, 

"  •  Never  need  we  be  afraid, 
"  '  Should  he  come  at  night  or  morning, 

"  'Early  dawn,  or  evening  shade.'" 


328  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

The  air  was  slow,  tender,  and  plaintive,  and  borne  by  the  deep 
voice  over  all  the  breadth  of  the  moon-lit  river.  Winnie's  breath 
was  fuller  drawn ;  the  skipper  held  his,  and  forgot  his  helm ; 
and  in  every  pause  of  the  song,  the  sweet  interlude  was  played 
by  the  water  under  the  sloop's  prow. 

"  Governor "  said  Winnie,  when  the  bubbling  water  had 

been  listened  to  alone  for  a  while. 

"What?" 

"  Do  you  think  those  words  are  quite  true  ?  " 

"  Those  words  of  the  hymn  ?  " 

"  Yes — some  of  them.  I  think  you  like  that  hymn  better 
than  I  do.  '  Earthly  joys  no  longer  please  us  ' ; — do  you  think 
that  is  right  ? — They  please  me." 

"  It  is  only  by  comparison  that  they  can  be  true,  Winnie, 
certainly ; — except  in  the  case  of  those  persons  whose  power  of 
enjoyment  is  by  some  reason  or  other  taken  away." 

"  But  you  like  that  hymn  very  much  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  like  part  of  it  very  much,  and  I  like  the  tune ;  but  I 
like  to  be  able  to  say  all  the  words  of  a  hymn.  How  sweet  that 
was ! — Governor,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  pleasant  to  stay 
here  all  night?" 

"  Singing  ?  " 

"  No — but  talking,  and  sleeping." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  sadly  hinder  to-morrow's  talk,  and 
oblige  you  to  sleep  instead." 

"  Then  I'll  go  right  away.  Do  you  think  we  shall  be  at  Wut- 
a-qut-o  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"If  the  wind  holds." 

By  Winthrop's  care  and  management  the  little  cabin  was 
made  not  absolutely  uncomfortable,  and  Winnie's  bed  was  laid  on 
the  floor  between  door  and  window  so  that  she  could  sleep  with- 
out being  smothered.  He  himself  mounted  guard  outside,  and 
sleeping  or  waking  kept  the  deck  for  the  whole  night. 

"  Governor,"  said  Winnie  cautiously  putting  her  head  out  at 
the  door,  just  as  the  summer  dawn  was  growing  into  day, — "  Gov- 
ernor ! — are  we  there  ?  " 

"  We  are  here." 

"Where?" 

"  Lying  at  Cowslip's  Mill." 

«  Oh  ! " 

The  rest  of  Winnie's  joyous  thought  was  worked  into  her 
shoes  and  dress  and  bonnet-strings,  and  put  away  in  her  bag  with 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  329 

ner  night-cap.  How  fast  it  was  all  done  !  and  she  pushed  open 
her  cabin  door  and  stood  on  the  deck  with  Winthrop. 

Yes — there  was  the  green  wooded  shore — how  fresh  to  her 
eyes ! — There  was  Mr.  Cowslip's  brown  old  house  and  mill ; 
there  was  the  old  stage  road;  and  turning,  there  two  miles 
off  lay  Shahweetah,  and  there  rose  up  Wut-a-qut-o's  green  head. 
And  with  a  sob,  Winnie  hid  her  face  in  Winthrop's  arms.  But 
then  in  another  minute  she  raised  it  again,  and  clearing  away  the 
mute  witnesses  of  joy  and  sorrow,  though  it  was  no  use  for  they 
gathered  again,  she  looked  steadily.  The  river  lay  at  her  feet 
and  stretched  away  off  up  to  Shahweetah,  its  soft  gray  surface 
unbroken  by  a  ripple  or  an  eddy,  smooth  and  bright  and  still. 
Diver's  Hock  stood  out  in  its  old  rough  outline,  till  it  cut  off  the 
west  end  of  Shahweetah  and  seemed  to  shut  up  the  channel  of  the 
river.  A  little  tiny  thread  of  a  north  wind  came  down  to  them 
from  Home,  over  the  river,  with  sweet  promise.  And  as  they 
looked,  the  morning  light  was  catching  Wut-a-qut-o's  grave  head, 
and  then  hill-top  after  hill-top,  and  ridge  after  ridge  of  the  high 
mountain  land,  till  all  of  them  were  alight  with  the  day's  warm 
hues,  while  all  beneath  slept  yet  in  the  greys  of  the  dawn.  The 
brother  and  sister  stood  side  by  side,  perfectly  silent ;  only  Win- 
nie's tears  ran,  sometimes  with  such  a  gush  that  it  Drought  her 
head  down,  and  sobs  that  could  be  heard  came  to  Winthrop's 
ears.     They  stood  till  they  were  hailed  by  the  old  miller. 

"  Ha !  Winthrop — glad  to  see  ye  !  how  do  you  do  ?  Haven't 
seen  your  face  this  great  while.  Winnie  ?  is  it  ? — Grlad  to  see 
ye  !  She's  growed  a  bit.  Come  right  along  into  the  house — we'll 
have  something  for  breakfast  by  and  by,  I  expect.  I  didn't  know 
you  was  here  till  five  minutes  ago — I  was  late  out  myself — ain't 
as  spry  as  I  used  to  be ; — Come  !  " — 

"  Oh  Governor,  let's  go  straight  home  !  "  said  Winnie. 

"  There's  time  enough  yet,  Mr.  Cowslip,  for  your  purposes. 
What  o'clock  do  you  suppose  it  is  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  it's  somewhere  goin'  on  to  six,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  It  has  left  five.   We  can  breakfast  with  Karen  yet,  Winnie." 

"  Oh  do,  Governor !  " 

"  If  you'll  give  us  a  boat  instead  of  a  breakfast,  Mr.  Cowslip, 
we  will  thank  you  just  as  much,  and  maybe  take  your  hospitality 
another  time." 

"But  won't  you  stop  and  take  just  a  mouthful  first?  you'd 
better." 

"  No  thank  you.  We  shall  have  to  take  it  up  there ;  and 
two  breakfasts  a  day  don't  agree  with  me." 


330  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

With  some  sorrow  on  Mr.  Cowslip's  part,  this  was  submitted 
to.  The  boat  was  got  out ;  Hildebrand  dropped  into  it  and  took 
the  oars,  "  guessing  he  wouldn't  mind  going  himself;  "  and  Win- 
throp  and  Winnie  sat  close  together  in  the  stern.  Not  to  steer ; 
for  Hildebrand  was  much  too  accustomed  an  oarsman  to  need 
any  such  help  in  coasting  the  river  for  miles  up  and  down. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


Away,  away,  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  wood  and  the  downs — 
To  the  silent  wilderness 
"Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music,  lest  it  should  not  find 
A.n  echo  in  another's  mind. 

SnSLLKY. 


Winnie  drew  a  breath  of  gratification,  as  the  oars  began  to 
dimple  the  still  water  and  the  little  boat  rounded  out  from  be- 
hind the  wharf  and  headed  up  the  river  ;  the  very  same  way  by 
which  Winthrop  had  taken  Mr.  Haye's  two  young  ladies  once 
long  before.  The  tide  was  just  at  the  turn,  and  Hildebrand 
made  a  straight  run  for  the  rocks. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  hear  the  oars  again  !  "  "Winnie  said. 
"Winthrop  said  nothing. 

Swiftly  they  pulled  up,  dappling  the  smooth  grey  water  with 
falling  drops  from  the  oar-blades,  and  leaving  behind  them  two 
lines  of  spreading  wavelets  that  tracked  the  boat's  way.  Cow- 
slip's Mill  fell  into  the  distance,  and  all  that  shore,  as  they  pulled 
out  into  the  middle  of  the  river ;  then  they  drew  near  the  old 
granite  ridge  of  Diver's  Rock  on  the  other  side.  The  sun  had 
got  so  low  down  as  that  now,  and  the  light  of  years  ago  was  on 
the  same  grey  bluffs  and  patches  of  wood.  It  was  just  like  years 
ago ;  the  trees  stood  where  they  did,  ay,  and  the  sunlight ;  the 
same  shadows  fell ;  and  the  river  washed  the  broken  foot  of  the 
point  with,  it  might  be,  the  very  same  little  waves  and  eddies.  And 
there,  a  mile  further  on,  "Wut-a-qut-o's  high  green  side  rose  up 
from  the  water.  "Winnie  had  taken  off  her  bonnet  and  sat  with  her 
head  resting  upon  "Winthrop's  side  or  arm,  her  common  position 
whenever  she  could  get  it.  And  she  sat  and  looked,  first  at  one 
thing  and  then  at  another,  with  quiet  tears  running  and  some- 


332  THE  HILLS  OF  THE  6HATEMUC. 

times  streaming  down  her  face.  Then  the  boat  struck  off  from 
Diver's  Rock  and  pushed  straight  over  for  the  rocks  of  Shah- 
weetah.  As  it  neared  them,  the  dear  old  trees  stood  forth  more 
plainly  to  view,  each  one  for  itself;  and  the  wonted  footholds,  on 
turf  and  stone,  could  be  told  and  could  be  seen,  apart  one  from 
the  other.  Poor  Winnie  could  not  look  at  them  then,  but  she  put 
her  head  down  and  sobbed  her  greeting  to  them  all. 

"  Winnie," — said  Winthrop  softly,  and  she  felt  his  arm  closer 
drawn  around  her, "  you  must  not  do  that  " 

It  mattered  little  what  Winthrop  asked  Winnie  to  do ;  she 
never  failed  to  obey  him.  She  stopped  crying  now,  and  in  another 
moment  was  smiling  to  him  her  delight,  through  the  drops  that 
held  their  place  yet  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  cheeks. 

The  little  boat  was  shoved  *in  to  the  usual  place  among  the 
rocks  and  the  passengers  got  out. 

"  What's  the  fare,  Hild '  ?— sloop  and  all  ?  " 

The  skipper  stood  on  the  rocks  and  looked  into  the  water. 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  to  you  to  clear  me  out,  the  first  time 
I  get  into  trouble  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  we're  square !  "  he  said,  preparing  to  jump  back  into 
his  boat. 

"  Then  hasn't  come,"  said  Winthrop ;  "  let's  keep  things  square 
as  we  go  along." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  skipper.  "  Couldn't  take  nothin'  from 
you  the  first  time,  Governor." 

And  Hildebrand  after  giving  Winthrop's  hand  a  shake,  into 
which  there  went  a  sort  of  grateful  respect  which  he  would  never 
have  yielded  to  one  who  had  laid  any  manner  of  claim  to  it, 
dropped  into  his  seat  again  and  pushed  off.  Winthrop  and  Win- 
nie turned  their  steps  slowly  towards  the  house. 

"Very  slowly ;  for  each  step  now  was  what  they  had  come  for. 
How  untravelled  the  road  was ! 

"  How  it  looks  as  if  we  didn't  live  here,  Governor,"  Winnie 
said  with  half  a  sigh. 

"  Old  Karen  and  Anderese  don't  come  this  way  very  often," 
replied  her  brother. 

"  Governor,  I  am  very  sorry  it  has  got  to  be  sold !  " 

They  walked  a  few  more  steps  up  the  rocky  path  in  silence. 

"  O  Governor,  look  at  that  great  limb  of  that  cedar  tree 
all  dragging !     What  a  pity." 

"♦Broken  by  the  wind,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  How  beautifully  the  ivy  hangs  from  that  cedar — just  as  it 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  333 

did.  Dear  Governor,  won't  you  get  a  saw  while  you're  here,  and 
take  off  the  branch  and  make  it  look  nice  again? — as  nice  as 
it  can ; and  there's  the  top  of  that  little  white  pine !  " 

"  Winter-killed,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Won't  you  put  it  in  order,  as  you  used  to  do,  this  one  time 
more  ?  " 

"  If  I  can  get  a  saw,  I  will,  Winnie, — or  a  hatchet." 

"  I'm  sorry  we  can't  do  it  but  this  one  time  more,"  said  Win- 
nie, with  a  second  and  a  better  defined  sigh,  as  they  reached  the 
house  level.  "  O  how  funny  it  looks,  Governor !  how  the  grass 
has  run  up  !  and  how  brown  it  is !  But  the  cedars  don't  change, 
do  they?" 

"  It  is  August,  Winnie,"  was  all  Winthrop's  remark. 

The  front  of  the  house  was  shut  up ;  they  went  round.  Old 
Anderese  was  cutting  wood  at  the  back  of  the  house  ;  but  with- 
out stopping  to  enlighten  him,  Winthrop  passed  on  and  led  Win- 
nie into  the  kitchen.  There  the  kitchen  fire  was  burning  as  of  yore, 
and  on  the  hearth  before  it  stood  Karen,  stooping  down  to  over- 
see her  cooking  breakfast.  At  Winthrop's  voice  she  started  and 
turned.  She  looked  at  them;  and  then  came  a  long  and  pro- 
longed "  Oh  ! "  of  most  mingled  and  varied  tone  and  expres- 
sion ;  hands  and  eyes  keeping  it  company. 

"  Karen,  we  have  come  to  see  you." 

In  perfect  silence  she  shook  the  hand  of  each,  and  then  sat 
down  and  threw  her  apron  over  her  face.  Winnie  stood  still  and 
sobbed ;  Winthrop  walked  off. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  the  old  woman  presently  rising  and  coming 

up   to  Winine, "  what's   made  ye   come  to  see   me   again  ? 

What  did  you  come  for,  dear  ?  " 

The  tone  was  wondering  and  caressing,  and  rejoicing,  all  in 
a  breath  Winnie  dried  her  eyes  and  answered  as  well  as  she 
could. 

"  Why  we  wanted  to  see  the  old  place  again,  Karen,  and  to 
see  you ;  and  Governor  thought  it  would  do  me  good  to  be  in 
the  country  a  little  while ;  and  he  couldn't  come  before,  and  so 
we  have  come  up  now  to  stay  a  few  days.  And  we've  brought 
things  to  eat,  so  you  needn't  be  troubled  about  that." 

"  Ye  needn't,"  said  old  Karen.  "  Anderese  and  me'd  find 
something  for  you  to  eat,  in  all  the  wide  country — do  ye  think  we 
wouldn't  ?  And  how  are  you,  dear,"  said  she  scanning  Winnie's 
pale  face ; — "  are  ye  ever  yet  any  stronger  ?  " 

Winnie  shook  her  head  smiling  and  answered,  "  Not  much." 


334:  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUO. 

"I  see  ye  ain't.  Well — ye're  the  Lord's  child.  He'll  do 
what  he  will  with  his  own.     Where  did  ye  come  from,  dear  ?  " 

"  Up  from  Mr.  Cowslip's  mill,"  said  Winnie.  "  We  came  in 
his  sloop  last  night." 

"  The  sloop !  "  said  Karen.  "  Why  then  ye  haven't  had  any- 
thing to  eat ! — and  what  was  I  thinking  of!     Sit  down,  dear 

take  your  own  chair,  till  I  get  the  other  room  fit  for  ye ;  and  you 
shall  have  breakfast  jus'  so  soon  I  can  make  it.  Where's  the 
Governor  gone  to  ?  " 

He  came  in ;  and  Karen's  face  grew  bright  at  the  sight  of 
him.  All  the  while  she  was  getting  the  breakfast  he  stood  talk- 
ing with  her;  and  all  the  while,  her  old  face  kept  the  broad  gleam 
of  delight  that  had  come  into  it  with  his  entering  the  kitchen. 
With  what  zeal  that  breakfast  was  cooked  for  aim ;  with  what 
pleasure  it  was  served.  And  while  they  were  eating  it,  Karen 
sat  in  the  chimney  corner  and  looked  at  them,  and  talked. 

"  And  isn't  the  place  sold  then,  Governor  ?  " 

a  Not  yet,  Karen in  a  few  weeks  it  will  be." 

"  And  who's  goin'  to  buy  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  And  ye  ain't  goin'  fur  to  buy  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  No  Karen— I  am  not  rich  enough  to  keep  a  country  house." 

"  You  had  ought  'to  have  it,"  said  Karen.  "  It  don't  belong 
to  nobody  else  but  you.  And  you  don't  know  who's  a  goin'  to 
have  it,  Governor  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  '  T  ain't  likely  they'll  let  the  old  woman  stay  in  her  corner, 
whoever  thay'L1  be,"  said  Karen.  "  Well — 'tain't  fur  now  to  the 
end, — and  then  I'll  get  a  better  place  where  they  won't  turn  mo 
out.     I  wish  I  was  there,  Governor." 

" '  There '  will  be  better  at  the  end  of  your  way,  Karen,  than 
at  any  other  time." 

"  Ay — 0  I  know  it,  dear;  but  I  get  so  impatient,  days, 
I  want  to  be  gone.     It's  better  waiting." 

"  Perhaps  you'll  have  something  yet  to  do  for  us,  Karen," 
said  Winnie. 

"  Ye're  too  fur  off,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  Karen's  done  all 
she  can  for  ye  when  she's  took  care  of  ye  this  time.     But  I'll 

find  what  I  have  to  do — and  I'll  do  it — and  then  I'll  go !  " 

she  said,  with  a  curious  modulation  of  the  tones  of  her  voice  that 
came  near  some  of  the  Methodist  airs  in  which  she  delighted. 
4 'Governor  '11  take  care  o'  you,  Winnie;  and  the  Lord  '11  take 
care  o'  him  ! " 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC.       m  335 

Both  brother  and  sister  smiled  a  little  at  Karen's  arrangement 
of  things ;  but  neither  contradicted  her. 

"  And  how  do  you  manage  here,  Karen,  all  alone  ?— -do  you 
keep  comfortable  ?  " 

"  I'm  comfortable,  Mr.  Winthrop,"  she  said  with  half  a  smile ; 
— "I  have  lived  comfortable  all  my  life.  I  seem  to  see  Mis' 
Landholm  round  now,  times,  jus'  like  she  used  to  be;  and  I 
know  we'll  be  soon  all  together  again.  I  think  o'  that  when  I'm 
dreary." 

She  was  a  singular  old  figure,  as  she  sat  in  the  corner  there 
with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her  finger, 
and  with  the  quick  change  of  energetic  life  and  subdued  patience 
in  her  manner. 

"  Don't  get  any  dinner  for  us,  Karen,"  said  Winthrop  as  they 
rose  from  table.     "  We  have  enough  for  dinner  in  our  basket." 

"  Ye  must  take  it  back  again  to  Mannahatta,"  said  Karen. 
"  Ye'r  dinner  '11  be  ready — roast  chickens  and  new  potatoes  and 
huckleberry  pie — the  chickens  are  just  fat,  and  ye  never  see  nicer 
potatoes  this  time  o'  year ;  and  Anderese  don't  pick  very  fast, 
but  he'll  have  huckleberries  enough  home  for  you  to  eat  all  the 
ways  ye  like.     And  milk  I  know  ye  like  'm  with,  Governor." 

"  Give  me  the  basket  then,  Karen,  and  I'll  furnish  the  huckle- 
berries." 

"He'll  do  it — Anderese  '11  get  'em,  Mr.  Winthrop, — not 
you." 

"Give   me   the   basket! 1   would   rather   do   it,  Karen. 

Anderese  has  got  to  dig  the  potatoes." 

"  0  yes,  and  we'll  go  out  and  spend  the  morning  in  the  woods, 
won't  we,  Governor  ?  "  said  his  sister. 

The  basket  and  Winnie  were  ready  together  and  the  brother 
and  sister  struck  off  into  the  woods  to  the  north  of  the  house. 
They  had  to  cross  but  a  little  piece  of  level  ground  and  sunshine 
and  they  were  under  the  shade  of  the  evergreens  which  skirted 
all  the  home  valley.  The  ground  as  soon  became  uneven  and 
rocky,  broken  into  little  heights  and  hollows,  and  strewn  all  over 
with  a  bedding  of  stones,  large  and  small;  except  where  narrow 
foot-tracks  or  cowpaths  wound  along  the  mimic  ravines  or  gently 
climbed  the  hilly  ridges.  Among  these  stones  and  sharing  the 
soil  with  them,  uprose  the  cedars,  pines,  hemlocks,  and  a  pretty 
intermingling  of  deciduous  trees;  not  of  very  tall  or  vigorous 
growth,  for  the  land  favoured  them  not,  but  elegant  and  pictu- 
resque in  varied  and  sweet  degree.  That  it  pleased  those  eyes 
to  which  it  had  been  long  familiar,  and  long  strange,  was  in  no 
measure. 


336  %    THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

Leaving  the  beaten  paths,  the  brother  and  sister  turned  to 
the  right  of  the  first  little  ravine  they  had  entered,  just  where  a, 
large  boulder  crowned  with  a  tuft  of  ferns  marked  the  spot,  and 
toiled  up  a  very  rough  and  steep  rising.  "VVinthrop's  help  was 
needed  here  to  enable  Winnie  to  keep  footing  at  all,  much  more 
to  make  her  way  to  the  top.  There  were  steep  descents  of  ground, 
spread  with  dead  pine  leaves,  a  pretty  red-brown  carpeting  most 
dainty  to  the  eyes  but  very  unsure  to  the  foot ; — there  were  sharp 
turns  in  the  rocky  way,  with  huge  granitic  obstacles  before  and 
around  them ; — Winnie  could  not  keep  on  her  feet  without  Win- 
throp's  strong  arm ;  although  in  many  a  rough  pitch  and  steep 
rise  of  the  way,  young  hickories  and  oaks  lent  their  aid  to  her 
hand  that  was  free.  Mosses  and  lichens,  brown  and  black  with 
the  summer's  heat,  clothed  the  rocks  and  dressed  out  their  barren- 
ness ;  green  tufts  of  fern  nodded  in  many  a  nook,  and  kept  their 
greenness  still ;  and  huckleberry  bushes  were  on  every  hand,  in 
every  spare  place,  and  standing  full  of  the  unreaped  black  and  blue 
harvest.  And  in  the  very  path,  under  their  feet,  sprang  many 
an  unassuming  little  green  plant,  that  in  the  Spring  had  lifted  its 
head  in  glorious  beauty  with  some  delicate  crown  of  a  flower.  A 
stranger  would  have  made  nothing  of  them;  but  Winnie  and 
Winthrop  knew  them  all,  crowned  or  uncrowned. 

"It's  pretty  hard  getting  up  here,  Governor — I  guess  I 
haven't  grown  strong  since  I  was  here  last ;  and  these  old  yellow 
pines  are  so  rotten  I  am  afraid  to  take  hold  of  anything — but  your 
hand.  It's  good  you  are  sure-footed.  0  look  at  the  Solomon's 
Seal — don't  you  wish  it  was  in  flower ! " 

"  If  it  was,  we  shouldn't  have  any  huckleberries,"  said  her 
brother. 

"  There's  a  fine  parcel  of  them,  isn't  there,  Winthrop  ?  0 
let's  stop  and  pick  these — there  are  nice  ones — and  let  me  rest." 

Winnie  sat  down  to  breathe,  with  her  arm  round  the  trunk  of 
a  pine  tree,  drinking  in  everything  with  her  eyes,  while  that  cluster 
of  bushes  was  stripped  of  its  most  promising  berries ;  and  then  a 
few  steps  more  brought  Winthrop  and  Winnie  to  the  top  of  the 
height. 

Greater  barrenness  of  soil,  or  greater  exposure  to  storms,  or 
both  causes  together,  had  left  this  hill-top  comparatively  bare ; 
and  a  few  cedars  that  had  lived  and  died  there  had  been  cut  away 
by  the  axe,  for  firewood ;  making  a  still  further  clearance.  But 
the  shallow  soil  everywhere  supported  a  covering  of  short  grass  or 
more  luxuriant  mosses ;  and  enough  cedars  yet  made  good  their  hold 
of  life  and  standing,  to  overshadow  pretty  well  the  whole  ground ; 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.      #  335 

Both  brother  and  sister  smiled  a  little  at  Karen's  arrangement 
of  things ;  but  neither  contradicted  her. 

"  And  how  do  you  manage  here,  Karen,  all  alone  ? — do  you 
keep  comfortable  ?  " 

"  I'm  comfortable,  Mr.  Winthrop,"  she  said  with  half  a  smile ; 
— "I  have  lived  comfortable  all  my  life.  I  seem  to  see  Mis' 
Landholm  round  now,  times,  jus'  like  she  used  to  be;  and  I 
know  we'll  be  soon  all  together  again.  I  think  o'  that  when  I'm 
dreary." 

She  was  a  singular  old  figure,  as  she  sat  in  the  corner  there 
with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her  finger, 
and  with  the  quick  change  of  energetic  life  and  subdued  patience 
in  her  manner. 

"  Don't  get  any  dinner  for  us,  Karen,"  said  Winthrop  as  they 
rose  from  table.     "  We  have  enough  for  dinner  in  our  basket." 

"  Ye  must  take  it  back  again  to  Mannahatta,"  said  Karen. 
"  Ye'r  dinner  '11  be  ready — roast  chickens  and  new  potatoes  and 
huckleberry  pie — the  chickens  are  just  fat,  and  ye  never  see  nicer 
potatoes  this  time  o'  year ;  and  Anderese  don't  pick  very  fast, 
but  he'll  have  huckleberries  enough  home  for  you  to  eat  all  the 
ways  ye  like.     And  milk  I  know  ye  like  'm  with,  Governor." 

"  Give  me  the  basket  then,  Karen,  and  I'll  furnish  the  huckle- 
berries." 

"  He'll  do  it — Anderese  '11  get  'em,  Mr.  Winthrop, — not 
you." 

"Give   me   the   basket! 1   would   rather   do   it,  Karen. 

Anderese  has  got  to  dig  the  potatoes." 

"  0  yes,  and  we'll  go  out  and  spend  the  morning  in  the  woods, 
won't  we,  Governor  ?  "  said  his  sister. 

The  basket  and  Winnie  were  ready  together  and  the  brother 
and  sister  struck  off  into  the  woods  to  the  north  of  the  house. 
They  had  to  cross  but  a  little  piece  of  level  ground  and  sunshine 
and  they  were  under  the  shade  of  the  evergreens  which  skirted 
all  the  home  valley.  The  ground  as  soon  became  uneven  and 
rocky,  broken  into  little  heights  and  hollows,  and  strewn  all  over 
with  a  bedding  of  stones,  large  and  small;  except  where  narrow 
foot-tracks  or  cowpaths  wound  along  the  mimic  ravines  or  gently 
climbed  the  hilly  ridges.  Among  these  stones  and  sharing  the 
soil  with  them,  uprose  the  cedars,  pines,  hemlocks,  and  a  pretty 
intermingling  of  deciduous  trees;  not  of  very  tall  or  vigorous 
growth,  for  the  land  favoured  them  not,  but  elegant  and  pictu- 
resque in  varied  and  sweet  degree.  That  it  pleased  those  eyes 
to  which  it  had  been  long  familiar,  and  long  strange,  was  in  no 
measure. 


338  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

"01  feel  very  well,"  said  Winnie.  "  But  Governor,  I  wish 
you  could  keep  all  this  ! — " 

"I  couldn't  live  here  and  in  Mannahatta  too,  Winnie." 

u  But  Governor,  you  don't  mean  always  to  live  in  Mannahatta, 
do  you  ? — and  nowhere  else  ?  " 

"  My  work  is  there,  Winnie." 

"  Yes,  but  you  can't  play  there,  Governor." 

"  I  don't  want  to  play,"  he  said  gently  and  lightly.     . 

"  But  why,  Governor  ?  " — said  Winnie,  whom  the  remark  made 
uneasy,  she  couldn't  tell  why ; — "  why  don't  you  want  to  play  ? 
why  shouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  feel  more  appetite  for  work." 

"  But  you  didn't  use  to  be  so,"  said  Winnie,  raising  her  head 
to  look  at  him.  "  You  used  to  like  play  as  well  as  anybody, 
Winthrop?" 

"  Perhaps  I  do  yet,  Winnie,  if  I  had  a  chance." 

"  But  then  what  do  you  mean  by  your  having  more  appetite 
for  work  ?  and  not  wanting  to  play  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  means  no  more  but  that  the  chance  is  wanting." 

"  But  why  is  it  wanting,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Why  are  your  Solomon's  Seals  not  in  flower  ?  " 

Winnie  turned  her  head  to  look  at  them,  and  then  brought  it 
round  again  with  the  uneasiness  in  full  force. 

"  But  Governor ! — you  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  life  is  like 
that  ?  " 

"  Like  what,  Winnie  ?  "  said  he  with  a  pleasant  look  at  her. 

"  Why,  anything  so  dismal — like  the  Solomon's  Seals  with  the 
flower  gone  ?  " 

"  Are  they  dismal  ?  " 

"  Why,  no, — but  you  would  be,  if  you  were  like  anything  of 
that  kind." 

"  Do  I  look  like  anything  of  that  kind  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Winnie,  "  indeed  you  don't, — you  never  look  the 
least  bit  dismal  in  the  world." 

"  I  am  not  the  least  bit  in  the  world,  Winnie." 

"  I  wish  you  had  everything  in  the  world  that  would  give  you 
pleasure  ! "  she  said,  looking  at  him  wistfully,  with  a  vague  un- 
selfish consciousness  that  it  might  not  all  be  for  hers. 

"  That  would  be  too  much  for  any  man's  share,  Winnie.  You 
would  make  a  Prince  in  a  fairy  tale  of  me." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  would  ?  "  said  Winnie,  half  smiling,  half 
sighing,  and  paying  him  all  sort  of  leal  homage  in  her  heart's 
core. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMITC.  339 

"  That  is  not  commonly  the  lot  of  those  who  are  to  reign  here- 
after in  a  better  kingdom." 

Winnie  rose  up  a  little  so  that  she  could  put  both  hands  on 
his  shoulders,  and  kissed  him  on  forehead  and  cheeks ;  most  lov- 
ing kisses. 

"  But  dear  Governor,  it  isn't  wrong  for  me  to  wish  you  to 
have  both  things,  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,  dear  Winnie.  I  don't  think  your  wishes  will  do 
any  mischief.     But  I  am  content  to  be  here  to-day." 

"  Are  you  ?  do  you  enjoy  it  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly 

"  Very  much." 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  I  was  afraid  somehow  you  didn't — as  much  as 
I  did.  But  I  am  sorry  you  can't  keep  it,  Governor.  Isn't  it  all 
beautiful  ?  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  delightful  as  it  is." 

And  Winnie  sighed  her  wish  over  again. 

"  You  can't  have  your  possessions  in  both  worlds,  Winnie." 

"  No, — and  I  don't  want  to." 

"  You  only  wish  that  I  could,"  he  said  smiling. 

"  Well,  Winthrop, 1  can't  help  that." 

"  I  am  in  better  hands  than  yours,  Winnie.  Look  at  that 
shadow  creeping  down  the  mountain." 

"  It's  from  that  little  white  cloud  up  there,"  said  Winnie. 
"  0  how  beautiful ! " 

"  You  see  how  something  that  is  bright  enough  in  itself  may 
cast  a  shadow,"  he  said. 

"  Was  that  what  you  thought  of  when  you  told  me  to  look  at 
it  ?  " 

"  No, — not  at  that  minute." 

"But  then  we  can  see  the  cloud  and  we  know  that  it  is 
bright." 

"  And  in  the  other  case  we  donH  see  the  cloud  and  we  know 
that  it  is  bright.  '  We  know  that  all  things  shall  work  together 
for  good  to  them  that  love  God,  to  them  who  are  the  called  ac- 
cording to  his  purpose ! '  " 

"  But  Governor,  what  are  you  talking  of?  " 

"  That  little  cloud  which  is  rolling  away  from  Wut-a-qut-o." 

"  But  what  cloud  is  over  you,  or  rolling  away  from  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  the  whole  land  was  in  shadow  to  you,  Winnie, 
because  I  cannot  buy  it." 

"  Why  no  it  isn't,"  said  Winnie.  "  It  never  looked  so  bright 
to  me.     It  never  seemed  near  so  beautiful  when  it  was  ours." 

*  The  other  land  never  seemed  so  bright  and  never  will  seem 


340  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

so  beautiful,  as  when  it  is  ours.  *  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King 
in  his  beauty;  they  shall  behold  the  land  that  is  very  far  off.'  n 

Winnie  smiled  a  most  rested,  pleased,  gratified  smile  at  him ; 
ind  turned  to  another  subject. 

"  I  wonder  what's  become  of  your  old  little  boat,  Governor — 
the  Merry-go-round  ?  " 

11 1  suppose  it  is  lying  in  the  barn-loft  yet,"  he  replied  rather 
gravely. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  all  gone  to  pieces." 

"  I  should  think  not.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  looking  at  the  river  and  thinking  how  pleasant  it 
;vould  be  to  go  out  on  it,  if  we  could." 

"  If  we  can  get  home,  Winnie,  I'll  see  how  the  matter  stands." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  home,"  said  Winnie. 

"  But  I  want  to  have  you.  And  Karen  will  want  the  huck- 
leberries." 

"  Well — I'll  go,"  said  Winnie.  "  But  we'll  come  again, 
Governor — won't  we  ?" 

"  As  often  as  you  please.     Now  shall  I  carry  you  ?  " 

"  0  no  !  " 

But  Winthrop  presently  judged  of  that  also  for  himself,  and 
taking  his  little  sister  on  one  arm,  made  his  way  steadily  and 
swiftly  down  to  the  level  ground. 

"  You're  a  good  climber,"  was  Winnie's  remark  when  he  set 
her  on  her  feet  again.  "  And  I  don't  know  but  I  was  once.  I've 
almost  forgotten.  But  it's  as  good  to  have  you  carry  me,  and  to 
see  you  do  it." 

The  Merry-go-round  was  found  in  good  condition,  only  with 
her  seams  a  littl ;»,  or  not  a  little,  opened.  That  trouble  however 
was  got  over  by  the  help  of  a  little  caulking  and  submersion  and 
time ;  and  she  floated  again  as  lightly  as  ever.  Some  days  still 
passed,  owing  to  weather  or  other  causes,  before  the  first  evening 
came  when  they  went  out  to  try  her. 

That  evening, — it  was  the  seventeenth  -of  August,  and  very 
fair, — they  went  down  to  the  rocks,  just  when  the  afternoon  had 
grown  cool  in  the  edge  of  the  evening.  Winnie  put  herself  in 
the  stern  of  the  little  white  boat,  and  Winthrop  took  his  old  place 
and  the  oars.     Winnie's  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"  It  will  be  harder  work  to  pull  than  it  used  to  be,"  she  re- 
marked joyously, — "  you're  so  out  of  the  habit  of  it." 

Winthrop  only  replied  by  pushing  the  little  skiff  off. 

"  However,"  continued  Winnie,  "  I  guess  it  isn't  much  to 
pull  me  anywhere." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  341 

\ 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  one  or  two  slow 
strokes  of  his  oar  sending  the  little  boat  forward  in  a  way  that 
made  Winnie  smile. 

"  I  don't  know — I  want  to  go  everywhere — Let's  go  up,  Win- 
throp, and  see  how  it  looks — Let's  go  over  under  Wut-a-qut-o. 
O  how  beautiful  it  is,  Winthrop  ! — " 

Winthrop  said  nothing,  but  a  repetition  of  those  leisurely 
strokes  brought  the  boat  swiftly  past  the  cedars  and  rocks  of 
Shahweetah's  shore  and  then  out  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  grad- 
ually drawing  nearer  to  the  other  side.  But  when  the  mid-river 
was  gained,  high  enough  up  to  be  clear  of  the  obstructing  point 
of  Shahweetah,  Winnie's  ecstatic  cry  of  delight  brought  Winthrop's 
head  round ;  and  with  that  he  lay  upon  his  oars  and  looked  too. 
J£b  might.  The  mountains  and  the  northern  sky  and  clouds 
were  all  floating  as  it  were  in  a  warm  flush  of  light — it  was  upon 
the  clouds,  and  through  the  air*  and  upon  the  mountains'  sides, — 
so  fair,  so  clear,  but  beyond  that,  so  rich  in  its  glowing"  suffusion 
of  beauty,  that  eyes  and  tongue  were  stayed, — the  on^  from  leav- 
ing the  subject,  the  other  from  touching  it.  Winthrop's  oars  lay 
still,  the  drops  falling  more  and  more  slowly  from  the  wet  blades. 
The  first  word  was  a  half  awed  whisper  from  Winnie — 

"  0  Winthrop, — did  you  ever  see  it  look  so  ?  " 
The  oars  dipped  again,  and  again  lay  still. 

"  0  Winthrop,  this  isn't  much  like  Mannahatta  !  "  Winnie 
said  next,  under  breath. 

The  oars  dipped  again,  and  this  time  to  purpose.  The  boat 
began  to  move  slowly  onward. 

"But  Winthrop  you  don't  say  any  thing  ?  "  Winnie  said  un- 
easily. 

"  I  don't  know  how." 

"  I  wish  I  couM  keep  a  picture  of  that,"  she  went  on  with 
regretful  accent  as  her  eyes  turned  again  to  the  wonderful  scene 
before  them  in  the  north,  floating  as  it  seemed  in  that  living  soft 
glow. 

"  I  shall  keep  a  picture  of  it,"  said  Winthrop. 

Winnie  sighed  her  regrets  again,  and  then  resigned  herself  to 
looking  with  her  present  eyes,  while  the  little  boat  moved  steadily 
on  and  the  view  was  constantly  changing;  till  they  were  close 
under  the  shadow  of  Wut-a-qut-o,  and  from  beneath  its  high 
green  and  grey  precipice  rising  just  above  them,  only  the  long 
sunny  reach  of  the  eastern  shore  remained  in  view.  They  looked 
at  it,  till  the  sunset  began  to  make  a  change. 


34:2  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJO. 

"  0  Winthrop,  there  is  Bright  Spot,"  said  Winnie,  as  her 
head  came  round  to  the  less  highly  coloured  western  shore. 

"  Yes," — said  Wintlirop,  letting  the  boat  drop  a  little  down 
from  under  the  mountain. 

"  How  it  has  grown  up  ! — and  what  are  all  those  hushes  at 
the  water's  edge?" 

"  Alders.     Look  at  those  clouds  in  the  south." 

There  lay,  crossing  the  whole  breadth  of  the  river,  a  spread 
of  close-folded  masses  of  cloud,  the  under  edges  of  which  the  sun 
touched,  making  a  long  network  of  salmon  or  flame-coloured  lines. 
And  then  above  the  near  bright-leaved  horizon  of  foliage  that 
rose  over  Bright  Spot,  the  western  sky  was  brilliantly  clear; 
flecked  with  little  reaches  of  cloud  stretching  upwards  and  col- 
oured with  fairy  sunlight  colours,  gold,  purple,  &nd  rose,  in  a 
very  witchery  of  mingling. 

Winthrop  pushed  the  boat  g&ntly  out  a  little  further  from 
the  shore,  and  they  sat  looking,  hardly  bearing  to  take  their  eyes 
from  the  cloud  kaleidoscope  above  them,  or  to  speak,  the  mind 
had  so  much  to  do  at  the  eyes.  Only  a  glance  now  and  then  for 
contrast  of  beauty,  at  the  south,  and  to  the  north  where  two  or 
three  little  masses  of  grey  hung  in  the  clear  sky.  Gently  Win- 
throp's  oars  dipped  from  time  to  time,  bringing  them  a  little 
further  from  the  western  shore  and  within  fuller  view  of  the 
opening  in  the  mountains.  As  they  went,  a  purplish  shade  came 
upon  the  grey  masses  in  the  north ; — the  sunlight  colours  over 
Bright  Spot  took  richer  and  deeper  hues  of  purple  and  red; 
the  salmon  network  in  the  south  changed  for  rose.  And  then, 
before  they  had  got  far,  the  moon's  crescent,  two  or  three  days 
old,  a  glittering  silver  thread,  hung  itself  out  amid  the  bright 
rosy  flecks  of  cloud  in  the  west  just  hard  by  the  mountain's  brow. 
Winnie  had  to  look  sharp  to  find  it.  • 

"  And  there  is  V3nus  too,"  said  Winthrop; — "look  at  her." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  In  the  blue — a  little  lower  down  than  the  moon ;  and 
further  to  the  south — do  you  see  ? — " 

"  That  white  bright  star  ? — 0  how  beautiful ! — in  that  clear 
blue  sky.  O  how  bright ! — how  much  brighter  than  the  moon, 
Winthrop?" 

"  Yes, — she  has  a  way  of  looking  bright." 

"  How  did  you  know  it  was  Venus,  or  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Very  much  in  the  same  way  that  I  know  it  is  Winnie.  I 
havr  seen  her  before.     I  never  saw  those  clouds  before." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC.  343 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  clouds  before !  And  how  long  they 
stay,  Winthrop.     0  what  a  place ! " 

Slowly  the  little  boat  pulled  over  the  river,  getting  further 
and  further  from  Bright  Spot  and  its  bright  bit  of  sky  scenery, 
which  faded  and  changed  very  slowly  as  they  sailed  away.  They 
neared  the  high  rocky  point  of  Shahweetah,  and  then  instead  of 
turning  down  the  river,  kept  an  easterly  course  along  the  low 
woody  shore  which  stretched  back  from  the  point.  As  they  went 
on,  and  as  the  clouds  lost  their  glory,  the  sky  in  the  west  over 
Wut-a-qut-o's  head  tinged  itself  with  violet  and  grew  to  an  opal 
light,  the  white  flushing  up  liquidly  into  rosy  violet,  which  in  the 
northeast  quarter  of  the  horizon  melted  away  to  a  clear  grave 
blue. 

"  It's  more  beautiful  than  the  clouds,"  said  Winnie. 

"It  is  a  wonderful  evening,"  said  Winthrop,  as  he  set  his 
oars  more  earnestly  in  the  water  and  the  little  boat  skimmed 
along. 

"  But  dear  Governor,  where  are  you  going  \   ' 

"  Going  to  land,  somewhere." 

"  To  land !  But  it'll  be  time  to  go  home,  won't  it  ?  We're 
a  great  way  from  there." 

"  We'll  take  a  short  cut  home,*  said  Winthrop,  looking  round 
for  a  place  to  execute  his  purpose. 

"  How  can  you  ?  " 

"  Through  the  woods.  Wouldn't  you  like  it  ?  You've  had 
no  exercise  to-day." 

"  0  I'd  like  it.  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  boat  ?  leave 
her  here  ? — 0  in  the  iEgean  sea,  Winthrop  !  " 

"  That  is  what  I  am  steering  for,"  said  her  brother.  "  But  I 
want  to  see  the  after-glow  come  out  first." 

The  '  iEgean  Sea '  was  a  little  bay-like  cove  on  the  north 
side  of  Shahweetah ;  to  which  a  number  of  little  rock-heads 
rising  out  of  the  water,  or  some  freak  of  play,  had  long  ago  given 
its  classic  name.  Winthrop  pushed  his  boat  to  the  shore  there, 
and  made  her  fast ;  and  then  he  and  Winnie  waited  for  the  after- 
glow. But  it  was  long  coming  and  the  twilight  grew  on ;  and 
at  last  they  left  the  bay  and  plunged  into  the  woods.  A  few 
steps  brought  them  to  a  path,  which  rough  and  untravelled  as  it 
was,  their  knowledge  of  the  land  enabled  them  easily  to  follow. 
Easily  for  all  but  their  feet.  Winnie's  would  have  faltered  ut- 
terly, so  rough,  stony,  and  broken  it  was,  without  her  brother's 
strong  arm ;  but  helped  and  led  and  lifted  by  him,  she  went  on 
joyously  through  the  gathering  gloom  and  under  the  leafy  canopy 


34:4:  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTTC. 

that  shut  out  all  the  sky  and  all  knowledge  of  the  after-glow,  if  it 
came.  But  when  they  had  got  free  of  the  woods,  and  had  come 
out  upon  the  little  open  cedar  field  that  was  on  the  river  side  of 
Shahweetah,  near  home, — there  it  was !  Over  Wut-a-qut-o's  head 
lay  a  solid  little  long  mass  of  cloud  with  its  under  edges  close- 
lined  with  fine  deep  beautiful  red.  The  opal  light  was  all  gone  • 
the  face  of  the  heavens  was  all  clear  blue,  in  the  gravity  of 
twilight.  Venus  and  the  moon  were  there  yet,  almost  down — 
bright  as  ever ;  the  moon  more  brilliant  and  bright ;  for  now  the 
contrast  of  her  sharp  crescent  was  with  Wut-a-qut-o's  dark  shad- 
owy side. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  that  August  boating.  And .  often 
again  as  in  old  times  the  little  skiff  flew  over  the  water,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  and  the  sunlight  Of  the  bay,  coasting  the 
shores,  making  acquaintance  with  the  evergreens  and  oaks  that 
skirted  them  and  looked  over  into  the  water's  edge.  Where  once 
Elizabeth  had  gone,  Winthrop  and  Winnie  with  swifter  and  surer 
progress  went ;  many  an  hour,  in  the  early  and  the  late  sunbeams. 
For  those  weeks  that  they  stayed,  they  lived  in  the  beauties  of 
the  land,  rather  than  according  to  old  Karen's  wish,  on  the  fat- 
ness of  it. 

But  she  did  her  best ;  and  when  at  last  Winthrop  must  return 
to  his  business,  and  they  bid  her  good  bye  and  left  her  and  Wut- 
a-qut-o  once  more,  the  old  woman  declared  even  while  she  was 
wiping  the  eyes  that  would  not  be  dry,  that  their  coming  had 
"  done  both  of  'em  real  good — a  power  of  it — and  her  too." 

"  He  hasn't  his  beat  in  this  country,"  she  said  to  old  And- 
erese  her  brother,  as  she  was  trying  to  take  up  again  her  wonted 
walk  through  the  house. — "  And  she,  dear  thing !  ain't  long  for 
this  world ;  but  she's  ready  for  a  better." 


CHAPTER    XXXI 


It  is  not  growing  like  a  free 

In  bnlk,  dctb  make  mac  better  be, 

Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 

To  fall  at  last  a  log,  dry,  bald,  and  sear. 

A  lily  of  a  day 

Is  fairer  far,  in  May 

•  Ben  Jonson. 


"  What  has  become  of  the  Landholms  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haye's 
young  wife,  one  evening  in  the  end  of  December. 

"  Confound  the  Landholms  !  " was  Mr.  Haye's  answering 

ejaculation,  as  he  kicked  his  bootjack  out  of  the  way  of  his  just- 
slippered  foot. 

"  Why  Mr.  Haye  !  "  said  Rose,  bridling  over  her  netting- work. 
"  What  have  the  Landholms  done  ?  " 

"  Done ! " 

"  Well,  what  have  they  ?  " 

"  One  of  them  won't  pay  me  his  dues,  and  the  other  is  fight- 
ing me  for  trying  to  get  them,"  said  Mr.  Haye,  looking  at  the 
evening  paper  with  infinite  disgust. 

"What  dues?" 

and  "  What  fighting;  Mr.  Haye  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  and  Rose 
in  a  breath. 

"  I  can't  answer  you  if  you  both  speak  at  once." 

"  Well  what  do  you  mean  by  fighting,  Mr.  Haye  ?  " 

"  Fighting." 

"  Well,  but  what  sort  ?  "  said  Rose  laughing,  while  the  othei 
lady  laid  down  her  book  and  waited. 

"  With  his  own  cursed  weapons." 

"  And  what  are  those,  Mr.  Haye  ?  you  haven't  told  us  which 
of  the  Landholms  you  mean,  yet." 

"  One  of  'em  hasn't  any  weapons  but  his  fists  and  his  tongue," 

15* 


34:6  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO. 

said  Mr.  Haye.     "  He  hasn't  tried  the  first  on  me 1  have 

some  small  knowledge  of  the  last." 

"  What  has  the  other  done  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"He  is  doing  what  he  can,  to  hinder  my  getting  my  rights 
of  his  brother." 

"  What  does  his  brother  owe  you  ?  " 

"  Money, "  said  Mr.  Haye  shortly. 

"  I  suppose  so.     But  what  for  ?" 

"  Business  !     What  does  it  signify  what  for  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  father.  It  must  be  something  which 
can  be  told." 

"  He  bought  cbtton  of  me." 

"Can  he  pay  for  it?" 

"  I  suppose  so.     I'll  try." 

u  But  what  is  his  brother  doing  ?  " 

"  Trying  to  hinder,  as  I  told  you." 

"But  how?     How  can  he?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  lawyers  can  or  can't  do.  They  can  put 
their  fingers  into  any  dirty  job  that  offers !  " 

Elizabeth  sat  silent  a  minute  with  a  very  disturbed  look. 
Rose  had  gone  back  to  her  netting,  only  glancing  up  once  in  a 
while  at  the  faces  of  the  other  two. 

"  Upon  what  plea  does  he  pretend  to  hinder  it,  father  ?  " 

"A  plea  he  won't  be  able  to  bear  out,  I  fancy,"  said  Mr. 
Haye,  turning  round  in  his  chair  so  as  to  bring  his  other  side  to 
the  fire,  and  not  ceasing  to  look  at  the  paper  all  this  while. 

"But  what?" 

"  What  does  it  signify  what !  Something  you  can't  under- 
stand." 

"  I  can  understand  it,  father ;  and  I  want  to  know." 

"  A  plea  of  fraud,  on  my  part,  in  selling  the  cotton.  I  sup- 
pose you  would  like  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance  after  that." 

Elizabeth  sat  back  in  her  seat  with  a  little  start,  and  did  not 
speak  again  during  the  conversation.  Hose  looked  up  from  her 
mesh-stick  and  poured  out  a  flood  of  indignant  and  somewhat 
incoherent  words;  to  which  Mr.  Haye  responded  briefly,  as  a 
man  who  was  not  fond  of  the  subject,  and  finally  put  an  end  to 
them  by  taking  the  paper  and  walking  off.  Elizabeth  changed 
her  position  then  for  a  low  seat,  and  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand 
sat  looking  into  the  fire  with  eyes  in  which  there  burned  a  dark 
glow  that  rivalled  it. 

"  Lizzie,"  said  her  companion,  "  did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
thing!" 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  34:7 

"  Not '  such  a  thing,'  "  she  answered. 

"  Aren't  you  as  provoked  as  you  can  be  ?  " 

" '  Provoked'  is  not  exactly  the  word,"  Elizabeth  replied. 

"  Well  you  know  what  to  think  of  Winthrop  Landholm  now 
don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Aren't  you  surprised  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  never  be  surprised  again,"  she  answered,  lay- 
ing her  head  down  for  an  instant  on  her  lap ;  but  then  giving  it 
the  position  it  held  before. 

"  You  take  it  coolly  !  "  said  "Rose,  jerkiDg  away  at  her  net- 
ting. 

"  Do  I  ?     You  don't." 

"  No,  and  I  shouldn't  think  you  would.  Don't  you  hate 
those  Landholms  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  !  You  ought.  "What  are  you  looking  at  in  the 
fire  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  Landholm, — just  at  that  minute." 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Rose  indignantly,  "  you  like  Winthrop 
Landholm  better  than  you  do  Mr.  Have !  " 

Elizabeth's  eyes  glared  at  her,  but  though  there  seemed  a  mo- 
ment's readiness  to  speak,  she  did  not  speak,  but  presently  rose 
up  and  quitted  the  room.  She  went  to  her  own ;  locked  the  door, 
and  sat  down.  There  was  a  moment's  quiver  of  the  lip  and  draw- 
ing of  the  brow,  while  the  eyes  in  their  fire  seemed  to  throw  off 
sparks  from  the  volcano  below ;  and  then  the  head  bent,  with  a 
cry  of  pain,  and  the  flood  of  sorrow  broke ;  so  bitter,  that  she 
sometimes  pressed  both  hands  to  her  head,  as  if  it  were  in  danger 
of  parting  in  two.  The  proud  forehead  was  stooged  to  the  knees, 
and  the  shoulders  convulsed  in  her  agony.  And  it  lasted  long. 
Half  hour  and  half  hour  passed  before  the  struggle  was  over  and 
Elizabeth  had  quieted  herself  enough  to  go  to  bed.  When  at 
last  she  rose  to  begin  the  business  of  undressing,  she  startled  not 
a  little  to  see  her  handmaid  Clam  present  herself. 

"  When  did  you  come  in  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  after  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  When  the  door  opened,"  said  Clam  collectedly. 

"  How  long  ago  ?  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here,  do  you  s'pose,  Miss  'Liza- 
beth?" 

"  That's  not  an  answer  to  my  question." 

"Not  ezackly,"  said  Clam;  "but  if  you'd  tell,  I  could  give  a 
better  guess." 


34:8  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

Elizabeth  kept  a  vexed  silence  for  a  little  while. 

"  Well  Clam,"  she  said  when  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  "  I 
have  just  one  word  to  say  to  you — keep  your  tongue  between 
your  teeth  about  all  my  concerns.  You  are  quite  wise  enough, 
and  I  hope,  good  enough  for  that." 

"  I  ain't  so  bad  I  mightn't  be  better,"  said  Clam  picking  up 
her  mistress's  scattered  things.  "  Mr.  Winthrop  didn't  give 
up  all  hopes  of  me.  I  'spect  he'll  bring  us  all  right  some  of 
these  days." 

With  which  sentence,  delivered  in  a  most  oracular  and  en- 
couraging tone,  Clam  departed;  for  Elizabeth  made  no  answer 
thereto. 

The  next  morning,  after  having  securely  locked  herself  into 
ner  room  for  an  hour  or  more,  Elizabeth  summoned  her  hand- 
maid. 

"  I  want  you  to  put  on  your  bonnet,  Clam,  and  take  this  note 
for  me  up  to  Mr.  Landholm's ;  and  give  it  with  your  own  hand  to 
him  or  to  his  sister." 

Clam  rather  looked  her  intelligence  than  gave  any  other  sign 
of  it. 

"  If  he's  out,  shall  I  wait  till  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  No, — give  it  to  his  sister." 

"  I  may  put  on  more  than  my  bonnet,  mayn't  I,  Miss  'Liza- 
be  ih  ?    This  won't  keep  me  warm,  with  the  snow  on  the  ground." 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  choose  to  hear ;  and  Clam  went  off 
with  the  note. 

Much  against  her  expectations,  she  found  Mr.  Winthrop  at 
home  and  in  his  room,  and  his  sister  not  there. 

"  Mornin',  Mr.  Winthrop ! "  said  Clam,  with  more  of  a 
courtesy  than  she  ever  vouchsafed  to  her  mistress  or  to  any  one 
else  whomsoever.  He  came  forward  and  shook  her  hand  very 
kindly  and  made  her  sit  down  by  the  fire.  The  black  girl's  eyes 
followed  him,  as  if,  though  she  didn't  say  it,  it  was  good  to  see 
him  again. 

"  What's  the  word  with  you,  Clam  ?  " 

"  'T ain't  with  me — the  word's  with  you,  Mr.  Winthrop." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  don'  know,  sir.     I've  nothin'  to  do  but  to  bring  it." 

"  How  do  you  do  this  cold  day  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  cold,"  said  Clam.  "  I  bethought  me  to  put  my  cloak 
on  my  shoulders.  Miss  'Lizabeth  wanted  me  to  come  off  with 
only  my  bonnet." 

And  she  produced  the  note,  which  Winthrop  looked  at  and 
laid  on  the  table. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTC.  3  4:9 

"  How  is  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  She's  sort  o',"  said  Clam.  "  She  has  her  ups  and  downs  like 
other  folks.  She  was  down  last  night  and  she's  up  this  mornin' 
— part  way." 

"  I  hope  she  is  pleased  with  you,  Clam." 

"  She  ain't  pleased  with  anything;  much,"  said  Clam ;  "  so  it 
can't  be  expected.  I  believe  she's  pleased  with  me  as  much  as 
with  anything  else  in  our  house.  Last  night  she  was  cryin'  as  if 
her  head  would  split — by  the  hour  long." 

"  That  is  not  part  of  your  word  to  me,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  just,"  said  Clam.  "  Mr.  Winthrop,  will  you  have  me 
come  back  for  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Did  Miss  Elizabeth  desire  it  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Clam.  "  But  she  didn't  tell  me  to  come 
but  once." 

"  Then  don't  come  again." 

Clam  rose  to  go  and  settled  her  cloak  as  she  moved  towards 
the  door. 

"  If  she  sends  me  I  may  come  again,  mayn't  I,  Mr.  Win- 
throp ?  "  she  said  pausing. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  smile ;  but  it  was  a  very  little  bit 
of  one. 

»  How  is  Winifred  ?  "  said  Clam. 

"  She  is  not  well." 

The  smile  had  entirely  passed  away ;  his  face  was  more  grave 
than  ever. 

"  Is  she  more  than  common  unwell  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Very  much." 

"  Can  I  go  in  and  see  her,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please." 

Clam  went ;  and  Winthrop  took  up  Elizabeth's  note. 

"No  11  Parade,  Dec.  20,  1821. 
"  I  nave  just  heard,  briefly  and  vaguely,  of  the  difficulties  be 
tween  my  father  and  your  brother,  and  of  the  remedies  you,  Mr. 
Landholm,  ar*  employing.  I  do  not  know  the  truth  nor  the  de- 
tails of  anything  beyond  the  bare  outlines.  Those  are  enough, 
and  more  than  I  know  how  to  bear.  I  don't  wish  to  have  any- 
thing explained  to  me.  But  Mr.  Landholm,  grant  me  one  fa- 
vour— you  must  grant  it,  if  you  please — do  not  let  it  be  explained 
any  further  to  anybody.  All  you  want,  I  suppose,  is  to  see  your 
brother  righted.  I  will  pay  the  utmost  of  what  is  due  to  him. 
I  do  not  understand  how  the  business  lies — but  I  will  furnish  all 


350  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

the  money  that  is  wanting  to  set  it  right  and  put  an  end  to  these 
proceedings,  if  you  will  only  let  me  know  what  it  is.  Please  let 
me  know  it,  and  let  me  do  this,  Mr.  Landholm ;  it  is  my  right , 
and  I  need  not  ask  you,  keep  my  knowledge  of  it  secret  from 
everybody.    I  am  sure  you  must  see  that  what  I  ask  is  my  right. 

"Elizabeth  Haye." 

Winthrop  had  hardly  more  than  time  to  read  this  when 
Clam  put  herself  within  his  door  again,  shutting  it  at  her  back. 

"  If  the  Governor  '11  let  me,"  she  said,  "  I'll  come  and  take 
care  of  her ; — or  I'll  run  up  and  down  tftairs,  from  the  bottom  to 
the  top, — whichever's  useful." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Clam.  .  Winnie  and  I  thank  you  very 
much.     But  your  mistress  will  want  you." 

"  She  won't.  She'll  want  me  here.  Let  me  come,  Governor. 
I  shan't  do  nothin'  for  Miss  'Lizabeth  if  I  stay  with  her." 

"  Go  and  do  all  she  wants  you  to  do.  No,  I  can't  let  you 
come.     My  sister  is  taken  care  of." 

*  She'd  be  that  where  you  are,"  muttered  Clam  as  she  went 
out  and  went  down  the  stairs,-—"  and  so  would  anybody  else.  I 
wish  some  of  the  rest  of  us  had  a  chance.  "Well — maybe  we'll 
get  it  yet !— " 

She  found  Elizabeth  at  her  desk  where  she  had  left  he?, 
waiting. 

"  Bid  you  find  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  And  you  gave  him  the  note  ?  " 

'  No,  miss — I  mean,  yes,  miss." 

"  Don't  say  '  miss '  in  tnat  kind  of  way.     Put  a  name  to  it." 

"  What  name  ?"  said  Clam. 

"  Any  one  you  like.     Did  you  see  anybody  else  ?  M 

"  I  see  the  brother  and  the  sister,"  said  Clam.  "  The  brother 
was  never  lookin'  better,  and  the  sister  was  never  lookin'  worse ; — 
she  ain't  lookin'  bad,  neither." 

"Is  she  ill?" 

"  She's  lyin'  abed,  and  so  far  from  bein'  well  that  she'll  never 
be  well  again." 

"  She  hasn't  been  well  this  great  while,  Clam ;  thatf s  nothing 
new." 

"  This  is,"  said  Clam. 

"  Does  her  brother  think  she  is  very  ill  ?  " 

"  He  knows  more  about  it  than  I  do,"  said  Clam.  "  I  said  I 
would  go  to  take  care  of  her,  and  he  said  I  wouldn't,  for  you'd 
be  a  wantin'  me." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  351 

"  I  don't  want  you  at  all ! "  said  Elizabeth, — "  if  you  could 
be  of  any  use.     Are  you  quiet  and  careful  enough  for  a  nurse  ?  " 

"  Firstrate  !  " — said  Clam ; — "  no,  I  guess  I'm  not  ezackly, 
here ;  but  I  were,  up  to  Wutsey-Qutsey." 

"  Up  where  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  I  told  you  not  to  speak  to  me  so." 

Clam  stood  and  gave  no  sign. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  be  of  any  use  up  there,  Clam  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Winthrop  says  everybody  can  be  of  use." 

"  Then  go  and  iry ;  I  don't  want  you ;  and  stay  as  long  as 
they  would  like  to  have  you." 

"  When  will  I  go,  Mis'  Landholm  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

H  I  asked  Mis'  Landholm,  when  will  I  go." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Clam  !  " 

"  You  said  call  you  any  name  I  liked — and  I  like  that  'bout 
as  well  as  any  one,"  said  Clam  sturdily. 

"  But  it  isn't  my  name." 

"  I  wish  'twas,"  said  Clam ; — "  no,  I  don'  know  as  I  do, 
neither ;  but  it  comes  kind  o'  handy." 

"  Make  some  other  serve  your  turn,"  said  Elizabeth  gravely. 
"  Go  up  this  afternoon,  and  say  I  don't  want  you  and  shall  be 
most  happy  if  you  can  be  of  any  service  to  Miss  Winifred." 

"  Or  Mr.  Winthrop—"  said  Clam.  "  I'll  do  all  I  can  for 
both  of  'em,  Miss  'Lizabeth." 

She  was  not  permitted  to  do  much.  She  went  and  stayed  a 
n'ght  and  a  day,  and  served  well ;  but  Winifred  did  not  like  her 
company,  and  at  last  confessed  to  Winthrop  that  she  could  not 
bear  to  have  her  about.  It  was  of  no  use  to  reason  the  matter ; 
and  Clam  was  sent  home.  The  answer  to  Elizabeth's  note  came 
just  before  her  handmaiden,  by  some  other  conveyance. 

"  Little  South  St.  l5ec.  21,  1821. 
"  Your  note,  Miss  Haye,  has  put  me  in  some  difficulty,  but 
after  a  good  deal  of  consideration  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
allow  the  '  right '  you  claim.  It  is  your  right,  and  I  have  no  right 
*,o  deprive  you  of  it.  Yet  the  difficulty  reaches  further  still ; 
for  without  details,  which  you  waive,  the  result  which  you  wish 
to  know  must  stand  upon  my  word  alone.  I  dislike  exceedingly 
it  should  so  stand ;  but  I  am  constrained  here  also  to  admit,  that 
if  you  choose  to  trust  me  rather  than  have  the  trouble  of  the  ac- 
counts, it  is  just  that  you  should  have  your  choice. 


352  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

"  My  brother's  owing  to  Mr.  Have,  for  which  he  is  held  re- 
sponsible, is  in  the  sum  of  eleven  hundred  and  forty-one  dollars. 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  with  great  respect, 

"  WlNTHROP  LANDHOLM." 

Elizabeth  read  and  re-read. 

"It  is  very  polite — it  is  very  hanasome — nothing  could  be 
clearer  from  any  shadow  of  implications  or  insinuations — no,  nor 
of  anything  but '  great  respect '  either,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It's 
very  good  of  him  to  trust  and  understand  me  and  give  me  just 
what  I  want,  without  any  palaver.  That  isn't  like  common 
people,  any  more.  Well,  my  note  wasn't,  either.  But  he  hasn't 
said  a  word  but  just  what  was  necessary. — "Well,  why  should 
he  ? " 

She  looked  up  and  saw  Clam. 

"  What's  brought  you  back  again  ?  " 

"  I  don'  know,"  said"  Clam.  "  My  two  feet  ha'  brought  me, 
but  I  don'  know  what  sent  me." 

"  Why  did  you  come  then  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  had  to,"  said  Clam.  "  Nothin'  else  wouldn't  ha' 
made  me.  I  told  you  it  was  good  livin'  with  him.  I'd  stay  as 
long  as  I  got  a  chance,  if  I  was  anybody  !  " 

"  Then  what  made  you  come  home  ?  " 

"I  don'  know,"  said  Clam.  "He  wouldn't  let  me  stay.  He 
don't  stop  to  make  everything  clear ;  he  thinks  it's  good  enough 
for  him  to  say  so ;  and  so  it  is,  I  suppose ;  and  he  told  me  to 
come." 

"I  am  afraid  you  didn't  do  your  duty  well." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  who  wouldn't,"  said  Clam.  "  I  did  mine  as 
well  as  he  did  his'n." 

"  How  is  Winifred  ?  " 

"  She's  pretty  bad.  I  guess  he  don't  think  he'll  have  much 
more  of  her,  and  he  means  to  have  all  he  can  these  last  days. 
And  she  thinks  she's  almost  in  Paradise  when  he's  alongside 
of  her." 

Elizabeth  laid  her  face  down  and  asked  no  more  questions. 

But  she  concerned  herself  greatly  to  know  how  much  and 
what  she  might  do  in  the  premises,  to  shew  her  kind  feel- 
ing and  remembrance,  without  doing  too  much.  She  sent 
Clam  once  with  jellies ;  then  she  would  not  do  that  again. 
Should  she  go  to  see  Winifred  herself  ?  Inclination  said  yes ; 
and  backed  its  consent  with  sundry  arguments.  It  was  polite 
and  kind ;  and  everybody  likes  kindness ;  she  had  known  Win- 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    8HATEMTJO.  353 

ifred,  and  her  brother,  long  ago,  and  had  received  kindness  in 
the  family,  yes,  even  just  now  from  Winthrop  himself;  and 
though  his  visiting  had  so  long  been  at  an  end,  this  late  inter- 
course of  notes  and  business  gave  her  an  opening.  And  probably 
Winifred  had  very  few  friends  in  the  city  to  look  after  her. 
And  again  inclination  said  '  Gro.'  But  then  came  in  another  feeling 
that  said  '  Go  not.  You  have  not  opening  enough.  Mr.  Land- 
holm's  long  and  utter  cessation  of  visits,  from  whatever  cause, 
says  plainly  enough  that  he  does  not  desire  the  pleasure  of  your 
society ;  don't  do  anything  that  even  looks  like  forcing  it  upon 
him.  People  will  give  it  a  name  that  will  not  please  you.'  ■  But 
then,'  said  inclination  on  the  other  hand,  !  my  going  could  not 
have  that  air,  to  him,  for  he  knows  and  I  know  that  in  the  exist- 
ing state  of  affairs  it  is  perfectly  impossible  that  he  should  ever 
enter  the  doors  of  my  father's  house — let  me  do  what  I  will.' 
'  People  don't  know  as  much,'  said  the  other  feeling ;  '  err  on  the 
safe  side  if  at  all,  and  stay  at  home.'  '  And  I  don't  care  much  for 
people,' — said  Elizabeth. 

It  was  so  uncommon  a  thing  for  her  to  find  any  self-imposed 
check  upon  what  she  wished  to  do,  that  Miss  Haye  was  very 
much  puzzled ;  and  tried  and  annoyed  out  of  all  proportion  by 
her  self-consultations.  She  was  in  a  fidget  of  uneasiness  all  day 
long ;  and  the  next  was  no  better. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Lizzie  ? "  said  Rose,  as  she  busily 
threaded  her  netting-needle  through  mesh  after  mesh,  and  Eliza- 
beth was  patiently  or  impatiently  measuring  the  length  of  the 
parlour  with  her  steps.  "  You  look  as  if  you  had  lost  all  your 
friends:" 

"Do  I?" 

"  Yes.     Why  do  you  look  so  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  difference  between  losing  all  one's  friends,  and 
having  none  to  lose  ?  " 

u  Why haven't  you  any  ?  " 

"  Whom  have  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  might  have.      I  am  sure  I  have  a  great  many." 

"  Friends  !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Well — I  don't  know  who  you  call  friends,"  said  Rose,  break- 
ing her  silk  with  an  impatient  tug  at  a  knot,         "  There ! — dear ! 

how  shall  I  tie  it  again  ? 1  should  think  you  needn't  look  so 

glum." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  Why — because.     You  have  everything  in  the  world." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  bitterly.  "  I  am  alone  as  I  can 
be." 


354  THE    IIILLS    OP    THE    SHATEMUO. 

"  Alone !  "  said  Rose. 

"  Yes.     I  am  alone.     My  father  is  buried  in  his  business ;  I 

have  nothing  of  him,  even  what  I  might  have,  or  used  to  have 

you  never  were  anything  to  me.     There  is  not  a  face  in  the  world 
that  my  heart  jumps  to  see." 

"  Except  that  one  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  *  That  one,7  as  you  elegantly  express  it,  I  do  not  see,  as  it 
happens." 

"  It's  a  pity  he  didn't  know  what  effect  his  coming  and  look- 
ing in  at  our  windows  might  have,"  said  Rose.  "  I  am  sure  he 
would  be  good  enough  to  do  it." 

But  Elizabeth  thought  a  retort  unworthy  of  the  subject ;  or 
else  her  mind  was  full  of  other  things ;  for  after  a  dignified  silence 
of  a  few  minutes  she  left  Rose  and  went  to  her  own  quarters. 
Perhaps  the  slight  antagonistic  spirit  which  was  raised  by  Rose's 
talk  came  in  aid  of  her  wavering  inclinations,  or  brought  back  her 
mind  to  its  old  tone  of  wilfulness ;  for  she  decided  at  once  that 
she  would  go  and  see  Winifred.  She  had  a  further  reason  for 
going,  she  said  to  herself,  in  the  matter  of  the  money  which  she 
wished  to  convey  to  Winthrop's  hands.  She  did  not  want  to 
send  Clam  with  it ;  she  did  not  like  to  commit  it  to  the  post ; 
there  was  no  other  way  but  to  give  it  to  him  herself;  and  that,' 
she  said,  she  would  do ;  or  to  Winifred's  hands  for  him. 

She  left  home  accordingly,  when  the  morning  was  about  half 
gone,  and  set  out  for  Little  South  Street ;  with  a  quick  but  less 
firm  step  than  usual,  speaking  both  doubt  and  decision.  Decision 
enough  to  carry  her  soon  and  without  stopping  to  her  place  of 
destination,  and  doubt  enough  to  make  her  tremble  when  she  got 
there.  But  without  pausing  she  went  in,  mounted  the  stairs, 
with  the  same  quick  footstep,  and  tapped  at  the  door,  as  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  do  on  her  former  visits  to  Winifred. 

No  gentle  voice  said  l  come  in,'  however,  and  the  step  which 
Elizabeth  heard  withinside  after  her  knock,  was  not  Winifred's. 
She  had  not  expected  that  it  would  be ;  she  had  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  Winifred  was  well  enough  to  be  moving  about  as  usual, 
and  she  was  not  surprised  to  see  Winthrop  open  the  door.  The 
shadow  of  a  surprise  crossed  his  face  for  an  instant, then  bow- 
ing, he  stepped  back  and  opened  the  door  wide  for  her  to  enter ; 
but  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  smile. 

"Well,  you  do  look  wonderfully  grave!"  was   Elizabeth's 

thought  as  her  foot  crossed  the  threshold, u  I  wonder  if  I  am 

doing  something  dreadful " 

And  the  instant  impulse  was  to  account  for  her  being  there, 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHO.  355 

by  presenting  her  business — not  the  business  she  had  intended  to 
mention  first. 

She  came  in  and  stood  by  the  table  and  began  to  speak ;  then 
he  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  after  a  second  of  hesitation  she  sat 
down.  She  was  embarrassed  for  a  minute,  then  she  looked  up 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Mr.  Landholm,  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you  for  your 
kindness  in  this  late  business, you  were  very  good  to  me." 

"  It  was  not  kindness 1  felt  you  had  a  right  to  ask  what 

I  could  not  refuse,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  I  have  come  to  bring  you  the  money  which  I  did  not  like 
to  get  to  you  by  any  other  means." 

She  handed  it  to  him,  and  he  took  it  and  counted  it  over. 
Elizabeth  sat  looking  on,  musing  how  tremulous  her  own  hand 
had  been,  and  how  very  cool  and  firm  his  was ;  and  thinking  that 
whatever  were  said  by  some  people,  there  certainly  was  character 
in  some  hands. 

"  This  will  be  handed  to  Mr.  Haye,"  he  said,  as  he  finished 

the  counting, "  and  all  the  proceedings  will  fall  to  the  ground 

at  once." 

"  Thank  you." 

"I  cannot  receive  any  thanks, Miss  Elizabeth.  lam  merely 
an  agent,  doing  what  I  have  been  obliged  to  conclude  was  my 
duty." 

"  I  must  thank  you,  though,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  feel  so  much 
relieved.  You  are  not  obliged  to  disclose  my  name  to  Mr.  Rufus 
Landholm?" 

"  Not  at  all.     To  no  one." 

"  That  is  all  my  excuse  for  being  here,"  said  Elizabeth  with 
a  slight  hesitation, — "  except  I  thought  I  might  take  the  privi- 
lege of  old  friendship  to  come  and  see  your  sister.  ' 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  in  his  turn,  but  without  raising  his 
eyes.  Yet  it  was  not  coldly  spoken.  Elizabeth  did  not  know 
what  to  think  of  him. 

"  Can  I  see  her,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  Is  she  well  enough  to  see 
me?" 

He  looked  up  then;  and  there  was,  hardly  a  smile,  but  a 
singular  light  upon  his  whole  face,  that  made  Elizabeth  feel  ex- 
ceedingly grave. 

"  She  is  well,  but  she  will  not  see  you  again,  Miss  Elizabeth. 
Winnie  has  left  me." 

«  Left ! "  said  Elizabeth  bewildered. 

"  Yes.  She  has  gone  to  her  home.  Winnie  died  yesterday 
morning,  Miss  Haye." 


356  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMTJC. 

Elizabeth  met  the  clear  intent  eye  which,  she  did  not  know 
why,  fixed  hers  while  he  spoke;  and  then  dropping  her  own, 
trembled  greatly  with  constrained  feeling.  She  could  not  tell  in 
the  least  how  to  answer,  either  words  or  look ;  but  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  her  to  stir  an  inch  from  the  spot  where  she 
stood. 

"  Does  it  seem  terrible  to  you?  "  he  said.  "  It  need  not.  Will 
you  see  her  ?  " 

Elizabeth  wished  very  strongly  not;  but  as  she  hesitated 
how  to  speak,  he  had  gently  taken  her  hand  and  was  leading  her 
forward  out  of  the  room ;  and  Elizabeth  could  not  draw  away  her 
hand  nor  hinder  the  action  of  his;  she  let  him  lead  her  whither 
he  would. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  paused  with  his  hand  up- 
on the  door  of  the  other  room.  Elizabeth  uttered  an  incompre- 
hensible '  no,'  and  they  went  in. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  he  said  again  in  a  gentle  grave  tone 
as  he  led  her  to  the  side  of  the  bed  and  then  let  go  her  hand. 
Elizabeth  stood  where  he  had  placed  her,  like  a  person  under  a 
spell. 

1  There  was  no  need '  indeed,  she  confessed  to  herself,  half  un- 
consciously, for  all  her  thoughts  were  in  a  terrible  whirl.  Win- 
nie's face  looked  as  though  it  might  have  been  the  prison  of  a  released 
angel.  Nothing  but  its  sweetness  and  purity  was  left,  of  all  that 
disease  and  weariness  had  ever  wrought  there  ;  the  very  fair  and 
delicate  skin  and  the  clustering  sunny  locks  seemed  like  angel 
trappings  left  behind.  Innocence  and  rest  were  the  two  prevail- 
ing expressions  of  the  face, — entire,  both  seemed.  Elizabeth 
stood  looking,  at  first  awe-stricken ;  but  presently  thoughts  and 
feelings,  many  and  diflferent  ones,  began  to  rise  and  crowd  upon 
one  another  with  struggling  force.  She  stood  still  and  motionless, 
all  the  more. 

"  There  is  no  pain  in  looking  there  ?  "  said  her  companion 
softly.  Elizabeth's  lips  formed  the  same  unintelligible  'no,' 
which  her  voice  failed  to  bring  out. 

"  Little  sleeper ! "  said  Winthrop,  combing  back  with  his 
fingers  the  golden  curls,  which  returned  instantly  to  their  former 
position, — "  she  has  done  her  work.  She  has  begun  upon  her 
rest.  I  have  reason  to  thank  Grod  that  ever  she  lived. — I  shall 
see  the  day  when  I  can  quietly  thank  him  that  she  has  died." 

Elizabeth  trembled,  and  in  her  heart  prayed  Winthrop  not 
to  say  another  word. 

"  Does  not  this  face  look,  Miss  Have,  as  if  its  once  owner  had 
1  entered  into  peace  ? ' " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  357 

If  worlds  had  depended  on  Elizabeth's  answering,  she  could 
not  have  spoken.  She  could  not  look  at  the  eye  which,  she  knew, 
as  this  question  was  put,  sought  hers ;  her  own  rested  only  on 
the  hand  that  was  moving  back  those  golden  locks,  and  on  the 
white  brow  it  touched ;  she  dared  not  stir.  The  contact  of  those 
two,  and  the  signification  of  them,  was  as  much  as  she  could  bear, 
without  any  help.     She  knew  his  eye  was  upon  her. 

"  Isn't  it  worth  while,"  he  said,  "  to  have  such  a  sure  foothold 
in  that  other  world,  that  the  signal  for  removing  thither  shall  be 
a  signal  of  peace  ?  " 

Elizabeth  bowed  her  head  low  in  answer. 

"  Have  you  it  ?  "  was  his  next  question.  He  had  left  the 
bed's  side  and  stood  by  hers. 

Elizabeth  wrung  her  hands  and  threw  them  apart  with  al- 
most a  cry, — "  Oh  I  would  give  uncounted  worlds  if  I  had  ! — " 

And  the  channel  being  once  opened,  the  seal  of  silence  and 
reserve  taken  off,  her  passion  of  feeling  burst  forth  into  wild 
weeping  that  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  Involuntarily  she 
took  hold  of  the  bedpost  to  stay  herself,  and  clung  to  it,  bending 
her  head  there  like  a  broken  reed. 

She  felt  even  at  the  time,  and  remembered  better  afterwards, 
how  gently  and  kindly  she  was  drawn  away  from  there  and  taken 
back  into  the  other  room  and  made  to  sit  down.  She  could  do 
nothing  at  the  moment  but  yield  to  the  tempest  of  feeling,  in 
which  it  seemed  as  if  every  wind  of  heaven  shook  her  by  turns. 
When  at  last  it  had  passed  over,  the  violence  of  it,  and  she  took 
command  of  herself  again,  it  was  even  then  with  a  very  sobered 
and  sad  mind.  As  if,  she  thought  afterwards,  as  if  that  storm 
had  been,  like  some  storms  in  the  natural  world,  the  forerunner 
and  usher  of  a  permanent  change  of  weather.  She  looked  up  at 
Winthrop,  when  she  was  quieted  and  he  brought  her  a  glass  of 
water,  not  like  the  person  that  had  looked  at  him  when  she  first 
came  in,  He  waited  till  she  had  drunk  the  water  and  was  to  ap- 
pearance quite  mistress  of  herself  again. 

"  You  must  not  go  yet,"  he  said,  as  she  was  making  some 
movement  towards  it ; — "  you  are  cold.  You  must  wait  till  you 
are  warmed." 

He  mended  the  fire  and  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  handed 
her  to  it.  Elizabeth  did  as  she  was  bade,  like  a  child ;  and  sat 
there  before  the  fire  a  little  while,  unable  to  keep  quiet  tears  from 
coming  and  coming  again. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  must  think  of  me,  Mr.  Winthrop," 
she  said  at  last,  when  she  was  about  ready  to  go.  "  I  could  not 
help  myself. — I  have  never  seen  death  before." 


358  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  You  must  see  it  again,  Miss  Elizabeth ; — you  must  meet  it 
face  to  face." 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  said  it,  with  eager  eyes,  from 
which  tears  ran  yet,  and  that  were  very  expressive  in  the  inten- 
sity of  their  gaze.  His  were  not  less  intent,  but  as  gentle  and 
calm  as  hers  were  troubled. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  he  added. 

She  shook  her  head,  still  looking  at  him,  and  her  lips  formed 
that  voiceless  '  no.'  She  never  forgot  the  face  with  which  he 
turned  away, — the  face  of  grave  gentleness,  of  sweet  gravity, — all 
the  volume  of  reproof,  of  counsel,  of  truth,  that  was  in  that  look. 
But  it  was  truth  that,  as  it  was  known  to  him,  he  seemed  to  as- 
sume to  be  known  to  her;  he  did  not  open  his  lips. 

Elizabeth  rose ;  she  must  go ;  she  would  have  given  a  world 
to  have  him  say  something  more.  But  he  stood  and  saw  her 
put  on  her  gloves  and  arrange  her  cloak  for  going  out,  and  he 
said  nothing.  Elizabeth  longed  to  ask  him  the  question,  "  What 
must  I  do  ? " — she  longed  and  almost  lingered  to  ask  it ; — but 
something,  she  did  not  know  what,  stopped  her  and  choked  her, 
and  she  did  not  ask  it.  He  saw  her  down  to  the  street,  in  silence 
on  both  sides,  and  they  parted  there,  with  a  single  grasp  of  the 
hand.  That  said  something  again  ;  and  Elizabeth  cried  all  the 
way  home,  and  was  well  nigh  sick  by  the  time  she  got  there. 


CHAPTEK    XXXII. 


How  now  ? 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 

Twelftii  Nl«fdT 


Miss  Haye  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning;  but 
after  little  more  than  a  nominal  presentation  of  herself  there, 
she  escaped  from  Rose's  looks  and  words  of  comment  and  inuend& 
and  regained  her  own  room.  And  there  she  sat  down  in  the  win- 
dow to  muse,  having  carefully  locked  out  Clam.  She  had  reason. 
Clam  would  certainly  have  decided  that  her  mistress  'wanted 
fixing,'  if  she  could  have  watched  the  glowing  intent  eyes  with 
which  Elizabeth  was  going  deep  into  some  subject — it  might  be 
herself,  or  some  other.     Herself  it  was. 

"  Well," — she  thought,  very  unconscious  how  clearly  one  of 
the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  was  defined  on  the 
retina  of  either  eye, — "  I  have  learned  two  things  by  my  precious 
yesterday's  expedition,  that  I  didn't  know  before — or  that  if  I 
did,  it  was  in  a  sort  of  latent,  unrecognized  way ; — two  pretty 
important  things !— That  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian, — yes,  I  do, 
— and  that  there  is  a  person  in  the  world  who  don't  care  a  pin 
for  me,  whom  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for ! — How  people  would 
laugh  at  me  if  they  knew  it — -and  just  because  themselves  they 
are  not  capable  of  it,  and  cannot  understand  it. — Why  shouldn't 
I  like  what  is  worthy  to  be  liked  ? — why  shouldn't  I  love  it  ? 
It  is  to  my  honour  that  I  do  ! — Because  he  don't  like  me,  people 
would  say ; — and  why  should  he  like  me  ?  or  what  difference 
does  it  make  ?  It  is  not  a  fine  face  or  a  fair  manner  that  has 
taken  me — if  it  were,  I  should  be  only  a  fool  like  a  great  many 
others ; — it  is  those  things  which  will  be  as  beautiful  in  heaven 
as  they  are  here — the  beauty  of  goodness — of  truth — and  fine 
character. — Why  should  I  not  love  it  when  I  see  it  ?    I  shall  not 


360  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

see  it  often  in  my  life-time.  And  what  has  his  liking  of  me  to 
do  with  it?  How  s7iould-he  like  me!  The  very  reasons  for 
which  I  look  at  him  would  hinder  his  ever  looking  at  me — and 
ought.  I  am  not  good, — not  good  enough  for  him  to  look  at  me  ; 
there  are  good  things  in  me,  but  all  run  wild,  or  other  things 
running  wild  over  them.  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  spoken  of  in  the 
day  that  his  name  is  mentioned.  I  wish  I  was  good  ! — I  wish  I 
was  a  Christian ! — but  I  know  one  half  of  that  wish  is  because 
he  is  a  Christian. — That's  the  sort  of  power  that  human  beings 
have  over  each  other !  The  beauty  of  religion,  in  him,  has  drawn 
me  more,  unspeakably,  than  all  the  sermons  I  ever  heard  in  my 
life.  What  a  beautiful  thing  such  a  Christian  is ! — what  living 
preaching ! — and  without  a  word  said.  Without  a  word  said, — 
it  is  in  the  eye,  the  brow,  the  lips, — the  very  carriage  has  the 
dignity  of  one  who  isn't  a  piece  of  this  world.  Why  aren't  there 
more  such ! — and  this  is  the  only  one  that  ever  I  knew ! — of  all 
I  have  seen  that  called  themselves  Christians. — Would  any  pos- 
sible combination  ever  make  me  such  a  person  ? — Never  ! — never. 
I  shall  be  a  rough  piece  of  Christianity  if  ever  I  am  one  at  all. 
But  I  don't  even  know  what  it  is  to  be  one.  Oh,  why  couldn't 
he  say  three  words  more  yesterday  !  But  he  acted — and  looked 
— as  if  I  could  do  without  them.     What  did  he  mean ! " 

When  she  had  got  to  this  point,  Elizabeth  left  her  seat  by  the 
window  and  crossed  the  room  to  a  large  wardrobe  closet,  on  a  high 
shelf  of  which  sundry  unused  articles  of  lumber  had  found  a  hiding- 
place.  And  having  fetched  a  chair  in,  she  mounted  upon  the  top 
of  it  and  rummaged,  till  there  came  to  her  hand  a  certain  old 
bible  which  had  belonged  once  to  her  mother  or  her  grandmother. 
Elizabeth  hardly  knew  which,  but  had  kept  a  vague  recollection 
of  the  book's  being  in  existence  and  of  its  having  been  thrust 
away  up  on  that  shelf.  She  brought  it  down  and  dusted  off  the 
tokens  of  many  a  month's  forgetfulness  and  dishonour  ;  and  with 
an  odd  sense  of  the  hands  to  which  it  had  once  been  familiar  aad 
precious,  and  of  the  distant  influence  under  the  power  of  which  it 
was  now  in  her  own  hands,  she  laid  it  on  the  bed,  and  half  curi- 
ously, half  fearfully,  opened  it.  The  book  had  once  been  in  hands 
that  loved  it,  for  it  was  ready  of  itself  to  lie  open  at  several  places. 
Elizabeth  turned  the  leaves  aimlessly,  and  finally  left  it  spread  at 
one  of  these  open  places ;  and  with  both  elbows  resting  on  the  bed 
and  both  hands  supporting  her  head,  looked  to  see  what  she  was 
to  find  there.    It  chanced  to  be  the  beginning  of  the  119th  psalm. 

"  Blessed  are  the  undefiled  in  the  way,  who  walk  in  the 
law  of  the  lord." 


THE  HELLS   OF  THE   SHATEMXJC.  361 

By  what  thread:  of  association  was  it,  that  the  water  rushed 
to  her  eyes  when  they  read  this,  and  for  some  minutes  hindered 
her  seeing  another  word,  except  through  a  veil  of  tears. 

"  Am  I  becoming  a  Christian  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  But 
something  more  must  be  wanting  than  merely  to  be  sorry  that  I 
am  not  what  he  is.  How  every  upright  look  and  word  bear  wit- 
ness that  this  description  belongs  to  him.    And  I 1  am  out  of 

c  the  way  '  altogether." 

"Blessed  are  they  that  keep  his  testimonies,  and  that 
seek  him  with  the  whole  heart." 

"  '  Keep  his  testimonies,'  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  and  '  seek  him 
with  the  whole  heart. '■ — I  never  did,  or  legan  to  do,  the  one  or 
the  other.  '  With  the  ivhole  heart ' — and  I  never  gave  one  bit 
of  my  heart  to  it — and  how  is  he  to  be  sought  ? " 

"  They  also  do  no  iniquity  ;  they  walk  in  his  ways." 

The  water  stood  in  Elizabeth's  eyes  again. 

"  How  far  from  me  ! — how  very  far  I  am  from  it !  'Do  no 
iniquity,' — and  I  suppose  I  am  always  doing  it — '  They  walk  in 
his  ways,'  and  I  don't  even  so  much  as  know  what  they  are. — 
I  wish  Mr.  Winthrop  had  said  a  little  more  yesterday  !  " — 

She  pondered  this  verse  a  little,  feeling  if  she  did  not  recog- 
nize its  high  and  purified  atmosphere ;  but  at  the  next  she  sprang 
up  and  went  back  to  her  window. 

"  Thou  hast  commanded  us  to  keep  thy  precepts  diligently." 

Elizabeth  and  the  Bible  were  at  issue. 

She  could  heartily  wish  that  her  character  were  that  fair  and 
sweet  one  the  first  three  verses  had  lined  out ;  but  the  command 
met  a  denial ;  or  at  the  least  a  putting  off  of  its  claim.  She  ac- 
knowledged all  that  wen*  before,  even  in  its  application  to  herself; 
but  she  was  not  willing,  or  certainly  she  was  not  ready,  to  take 
the  pains  and  bear  the  restraint  that  should  make  her  and  it  at 
one.  She  did  not  put  the  case  so  fairly  before  herself.  She  kept 
that  fourth  verse  at  arm's  length,  as  it  were,  conscious  that 
it  held  something  she  could  not  get  over;  unconscious  what 
was  the  precise  why.  She  rushed  back  to  her  conclusion  that 
the  Bible  teaching  was  unsatisfactory,  and  that  she  wanted  other ; 
and  so  travelling  round  in  a  circle  she  came  to  the  point  from 
which  she  had  begun.  With  a  more  saddened  and  sorrowful 
feeling,  she;  stood  looking  at  Winthrop's  character  and  at  her 
own ;  more  certified,  if  that  had  been  wanting,  that  she  herself 
was  astray ;  and  well  she  resolved  that  if  ever  she  got  another 
chance  she  would  ask  him  to  tell  her  more  about  her  duty,  and 
how  she  should  manage  to  do  it. 


362  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

But  how  was  she  to  get  another  chance  ?  Winthrop  never 
came,  nor  could  come,  to  Mr.  Haye's ;  all  that  was  at  an  end ; 
she  never  could  go  again  to  his  rooms.  That  singular  visit  of 
yesterday  had  once  happened,  but  could  never  happen  again  by 
any  possibility.  She  knew  it ;  she  must  wait.  And  weeks  went 
on,  and  still  her  two  wishes  lived  in  her  heart ;  and  still  she 
waited.  There  was  nobody  else  of  whom  she  chose  to  ask  her 
questions ;  either  from  want  of  knowledge,  or  from  want  of  trust, 
or  from  want  of  attraction.  And  there  were  few  indeed  that 
came  to  the  house  whom  she  could  suppose  capable  of  answering 
them. 

One  evening  it  happened  that  Mr.  Satterthwaite  came  in. 
He  often  did  that ;  he  had  never  lost  the  habit  of  finding  it  a 
pleasant  place.  This  time  he  threw  himself  down  at  the  tea- 
table,  in  tired  fashion,  just  as  the  lady  of  the  house  asked  him 
for  the  news. 

"  No  news,  Mrs.  Haye — sorry  I  haven't  any.  Been  all  day 
attending  court,  till  I  presume  I'm  not  fit  for  general  society.  I 
hope  a  cup  of  tea  '11  do  something  for  me." 

"  What's  taken  you  into  court  ?  "  said  Rose,  as  she  gave  the 
asked-for  tea. 

"  A  large  dish  of  my  own  affairs, — that  is  to  say,  my 
uncle's  and  father  s  and  grandfather's — which  is  in  precious 
confusion." 

"  I  hope,  getting  on  well  ?  "  said  Rose  sweetly. 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Satterthwaite  contentedly.  "  Don't 
know  till  we  get  out  of  the  confusion.  But  I  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  it's  getting  on  as  well  as  it  can  get  on, — from 
the  hands  it  is  in." 

"  Whose  hands  are  they  ?  "  Elizabeth  asked. 

"  In  Mr.  Landholm's. — He'll  set  it  right,  if  anybody  can.  I 
know  he  will.  Never  saw  such  a  fellow.  Mrs.  Haye — thank 
you — this  bread  and  butter- is  all  sufficient.  Uncommon  to  have 
a  friend  for  one's  lawyer,  and  to  know  he  is  both  a  friend  and 
a  lawyer." 

"  Rather  uncommon,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Is  Winthrop  Landholm  your  friend  ?  "  said  Rose  dryly. 

"  Yes  !  The  best  friend  I've  got.  I'd  do  anything  in  the 
world  for  that  fellow.     He  deserves  it." 

"  Mr.  Satterthwaite,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  that  bread  and  butter 
isn't  so  good  as  these  biscuits — try  one." 

"  He  don't  deserve  it  from  everybody  ! "  said  Rose,  as  Mr. 
Satterthwaite  gratefully  took  a  biscuit. 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMtJC.  363 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  don't  deserve  it  from  me.  I've  known  him  to  do  un- 
handsome things.     Mean  ! " 

"  Winthrop  Landholm  ! — My  dear  Mrs.  Haye,  you  are  under 
some  misapprehension.  I'll  stake  my  reputation  he  never  did 
an  unhandsome  or  a  mean  thing.     He  couldrit." 

"  He  did,"  said  Rose. 

"  Will  you  favour  me  with  the  particulars  you  have  heard  ?  " 

u  I  haven't  heard,"  said  Rose, — "  I  know." 

"  You  have  heard  !  "  said  Elizabeth  sternly, — "  and  only 
heard.  You  forget.  You  may  not  have  understood  anything 
right," 

The  gentleman  looked  in  a  little  astonishment  from  the  bright- 
coloured  cheeks  of  one  lady  to  the  cloudy  brow  of  the  other ; 
but  as  neither  added  anything  further,  he  took  up  the  matter. 

"  I  am  almost  certain  Miss  Elizabeth  is  right,  I  am  sure 
Mr.  Landholm  would  not  do  what  you  suspect  him  of.  He  could 
not  do  it." 

"  He  is  mortal,  I  suppose,"  said  Rose  sourly,  "  and  so  he 
could  do  what  other  mortals  do." 

"  He  is  better  than  some  other  mortals,"  said  Mr.  Satter- 
thwaite.  "  I  am  not  a  religious  man  myself;  but  if  anything 
would  make  me  believe  in  it,  it  would  be  that  man." 

"  Don't  you  '  believe  in  it,'  Mr.  Satterthwaite  ? "  asked 
Elizabeth. 

"  In  a  sort  of  way,  yes,  I  do ; — I  suppose  it's  a  thing  one 
must  come  to  at  last." 

"  If  you  want  to  come  to  it  at  last,  I  should  think  you  would 
at  first,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  would.  I  shouldn't  think  it  wars  a 
very  safe  way  to  put  it  off." 

Mr.  Satterthwaite  mused  over  his  tea  and  made  no  answer ; 
clearly  the  conversation  had  got  upon  the  wrong  tack. 

"  Are  yor.  going  to  be  in  court  to-morrow  again,  Mr.  Satter- 
thwaite ?  "  asked  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"  I  don't  know — not  for  my  own  affairs — I  don't  know  but  I 
shall  go  in  to  hear  Winthrop's  cause  come  on  against  Mr.  Ryle." 

"  I  never  was  in  court  in  my  life,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Suppose  you  go,  Miss  Elizabeth — If  you'll  allow  me  to  have 
the  honour  of  taking  care  of  you,  I  shall  be  very  happy.  There'll 
be  something  to  hear,  between  Chancellor  Justice  and  my  friend 
Winthrop  and  Mr.  Brick." 

"  Is  Mr.  Brick  going  to  speak  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Rose. 

u  Yes — he  is  on  the  other  side." 


364  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Let's  go,  Lizzie,"  said  her  cousin.  "  "Will  you  take  me  too, 
Mr.  Brick  ? — Mr.  Satterthwaite,  I  mean." 

Mr.  Satterthwaite  declared  himself  honoured,  prospectively ; 
Elizabeth  put  no  objection  of  her  own  in  the  way ;  and  the 
scheme  was  agreed  on. 

The  morrow  came,  and  at  the  proper  hour  the  trio  repaired 
to  the  City  Hall  and  mounted  its  high  white  steps. 

"  Don't  you  feel  afraid,  Lizzie,  to  be  coming  here  ?  "  said  her 
cousin.     "  I  do." 

"  Afraid  of  what,  Mrs.  Haye  ?  "  inquired  their  attendant. 

"01  don't  know, — it  looks  so ; — it  makes  me  think  of  prison- 
ers and  judges  and  all  such  awful  things  !  " 

Mr.  Satterthwaite  laughed,  and  stole  a  glance  beyond  Mrs. 
Haye  to  see  what  the  other  lady  was  thinking  of.  But  Elizabeth 
said  nothing  and  looked  nothing ;  she  marched  on  like  an  autom- 
aton beside  her  two  companions,  through  the  great  halls,  one  after 
another,  till  the  room  was  reached  and  they  had  secured  their 
seats.  Then  certainly  no  one  who  had  looked  at  her  face  would 
have  taken  it  for  an  automaton.  Though  she  was  as  still  as  a 
piece  of  machine-work,  except  the  face.  Hose  was  in  a  fidget  of 
business,  and  the  tip  of  her  bonnet's  white  feather  executed  all 
manner  of  arcs  and  curves  in  the  air,  within  imminent  distance 
of  Mr.  Satterthwaite's  face. 

"  Who's  who  ? — and  where's  anybody,  Mr.  Satterthwaite,"  she 
mquired. 

"  That's  the  Chancellor,  sitting  up  there  at  the  end,  do  you 
see  ? — Sitting  alone,  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair." 

u  That  ?  "  said  Rose.  "  I  see.  Is  that  Chancellor  Justice  ? 
A.  fine-looking  man,  very,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Well — I  suppose  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Satterthwaite.  "  He's  a 
strong  man." 

"  Strong  ?  "  said  Kose ; — "  is  he  ?  Lizzie  ! — isn't  Chancellor 
Justice  a  fine-looking  man  ?  " 

"Fine-looking?" — said  Elizabeth,  bringing  her  eyes  in  the 
Chancellor's  direction.     "  No,  I  should  think  not." 

"  Is  there  anybody  that  is  fine-looking  here  ?  "  whispered 
Rose  in  Elizabeth's  bonnet. 

"  Our  tastes  are  so  different,  it  is  impossible  for  one  to  tell 
what  will  please  the  other,"  replied  Elizabeth  coolly. 

"  Where's  Mr.  Landholm,  Mr.  Satterthwaite  ?  " 

"  Winthrop  ? — He  is  down  there — don't  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  '  Down  there  ? '  "  said  Rose, — "  There  are  a  great  many 
people  down  there " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  365 

"  There's  Mr.  Herder  shaking  hands  with  him  now — " 

"  Mr.  Herder  ? — Lizzie,  do  you  see  them  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Winthrop  Landholm  and  Mr.  Herder." 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

«*  Hush—" 

For  just  then  proceedings  began,  and  Rose's  tongu^for  a  few 
minutes  gave  way  in  favour  of  her  ears.  And  by  the  time  she 
had  found  out  that  she  could  not  make  anything  of  what  was  go- 
ing on,  Mr.  Herder  had  found  his  way  to  their  side. 

"  Miss  Elisabet* !  "  he  said, — "  and  Mistress  Haye  !  what  has 
made  you  to  come  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  Mr.*  Satterthwaite  wanted  us  to  hear  your  favourite  Mr. 
Landholm,"  said  Rose, — "  so  I  came.  Lizzie  didn't  come  for 
that." 

Elizabeth  shook  hands  with  her  friend  smilingly,  but  said 
never  a  word  as  to  why  she  was  there. 

"  Winthrop  is  good  to  hear,"  said  Mr.  Herder,  "  when  you 
can  understand  him.  He  knows  how  to  speak.  I  can  under- 
stand him — but  I  cannot  understand  Mr.  Brick — I  cannot  make 
nozing  of  him  when  he  speaks." 

"What  are  they  doing  to-day,  Mr.  Herder  ?"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  It  is  the  cause  of  my  brother-in-law,  Jean  Lansing,  against 
Mr.  Ryle, — he  thinks  that  Mr.  Ryle  has  got  some  of  his  money, 
and  I  think  so  too,  and  so  Winthrop  thinks;  but  nobody  knows, 
except  Mr.  Ryle — he  knows  all  of  it.  Winthrop  has  been  ask- 
ing some  questions  about  it,  to  Mr.  Ryle  and  Mr.  Brick  " — 

"When?" 

"  0  a  little  while  aga — a  few  weeks ; — and  they  say  no, — 
they  do  not  choose  to  make  answer  to  his  questions.  Now  Win- 
throp is  going  to  see  if  the  Chancellor  will  not  make  that  they 
must  tell  what  he  wants  to  know ;  and  Mr.  Brick  will  fight  so 
hard  as  he  can  not  to  tell.  But  Winthrop  will  get  what  he 
wants." 

"  How  do  you  know,  Mr.  Herder  ?  " 

"  He  does,  always." 

"  What  does  he  want,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  It  is  my  brother-in-law's  business,"  said  the  naturalist. 
"  He  wants  to  know  if  Mr.  Ryle  have, not  got  a  good  deal  of  his 
money  someveres ;  and  Mr.  Ryle,  he  aoes  not  want  to  say  nozing 
about  it;  and   Winthrop  and  Mr.  Brick,  they  fight;  and  the 


366  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

Chancellor  he  says,  '  Mr.   Landholm,  you  have  the  right ;  Mr 
Brick,  you  do  what  he  tell  you.'  " 

"  Then  why  isn't  the  cause  ended  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Because  we  have  not  found  out  all  yet ;  we  are  pushing  them, 
Mr.  Ryle  and  Mr.  Brick,  leetle  by  leetle,  into  the  corner ;  and 
when  we  get  'em  into  the  corner,  then  they  will  have  to  pay  us 
to  get  out." 

"  You  seem  very  sure  about  it,  Mr.  Herder,"  said  Rose. 

11 1  do  not  know,"  said  the  naturalist.  "  I  am  not  much 
afraid.     My  friend  Winthrop — he  knows  what  he  is  doing." 

And  to  that  gentleman  the  party  presently  gave  their  atten- 
tion; as  also  did  the  sturdy  strong  face  of  Mr.  Justice  the 
Chancellor,  and  the  extremely  different  physiognomy  of  Mr. 
Dustus  Brick. 

Winthrop  and  Mr.  Brick  spoke  alternately ;  and  s,s  this  was 
the  case  on  each  point,  or  question, — as  Mr.  Herder  called  them, 
— and  as  one  at  least  of  the  speakers  was  particularly  clear  and 
happy  in  setting  forth  his  meaning,  the  listeners  were  kept  from 
weariness  and  rewarded,  those  of  them  that  had  minds  for  it,  with 
some  intellectual  pleasure.  It  was  pretty  much  on  this  occasion 
as  Mr.  Herder  had  given  the  general  course  of  the  suit  to  be  ; 
after  every  opening  of  a  matter  on  Winthrop's  part,  the  Chancellor 
would  say,  very  curtly, 

"  I  allow  that  exception !  Mr.  Brick,  what  have  you  got  t<7 
say  ?  "— 

Mr.  Brick  generally  had  a  good  deal  to  say.  He  seemed  tu 
multiply  his  defences  in  proportion  to  the  little  he  had  to  defend } 
in  strong  contrast  to  his  antagonist's  short,  nervous,  home-thrust 
arguments.     The  Court  generally  seemed  tired  with  Mr.  Brick. 

"  Oh  that  man ! — I  wish  he  would  stop  !  "  said  Rose. 

Elizabeth,  who  for  the  most  part  was  as  still  as  a  mouse 
glanced  round  at  these  words,  one  of  her  few  and  rar^  secondings 
of  anything  said  by  her  cousin.  She  did  not  know  that  her  glance 
shewed  cheeks  of  fire,  and  eyes  all  the  power  of  which  seemed  to 
be  in  full  life. 

"  Can  you  understand  that  man  ?  "  said  the  naturalist. 

"  He  don't  understand  himself,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  don't  understand  anybody,"  said  Rose.  "  But  I  like  to 
hear  the  Chancellor  speak — he's  so  funny, — only  I'm  getting  tired. 
I  wish  he  would  stop  that  man.  Oh  that  Mr.  Brick ! — Now  see 
the  Chancellor  !— " 

"  I've  decided  that  point,  Mr.  Brick  !  " 

Mr.  Brick  could  not  think  it  decided.  At  least  it  seemed  so, 
for  he  went  on. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  367 

"  What  a  stupid  man  !  "  said  Kose. 

"  He  will  have  the  last  word,"  said  Mr.  Herder. 

"  Miss  Haye,  are  you  tired  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Satterthwaite,  lean* 
ing  past  the  white  feather. 

« I  ?_No." 

"  I  am,"  said  Rose.  "  And  so  is  the  Chancellor.  Now  look 
at  him " 

"  Mr.  Brick — I  have  decided  that  point !  "  came  from  the 
lips  of  Mr.  Justice,  a  little  more  curtly  than  before. 

"  Now  he  will  stop, — "  said  Rose. 

No — Mr.  Brick  was  unmoveable. 

"  Yery  well ! "  said  the   Chancellor,  throwing  himself  half 

way  round  on  his  chair  with  a  jerk "  you  may  go  on,  and  I'll 

read  the  newspaper  ! — " 

Which  he  did,  amid  a  general  titter  that  went  round  the  court- 
room, till  the  discomfited  Mr.  Brick  came  to  a  stand.  And  Win- 
throp  rose  for  his  next  point. 

"  Are  you  going  to  wait  till  it's  all  done,  Mr.  Herder  ?  "  said 
Rose.  "  I'm  tired  to  death.  Lizzie — Lizzie  !  " — she  urged, 
pulling  her  cousin's  shoulder. 

"  What ! "  said  Elizabeth,  giving  her  another  sight  of  the 
same  face  that  had  flashed  upon  her  half  an  hour  before. 

"  My  goodness  !  "  said  Rose.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"  What  do  you  want  ? — "  said  Elizabeth  with  a  sort  of  fiery 
impatience,  into  which  not  a  little  disdain  found  its  way. 

"  You  are  not  interested,  are  you  ?  "  said  Rose  with  a  satiri- 
cal smile. 

"  Of  course  I  am  !  " 

"  In  that  man,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want !  "  said  Elizabeth,  answering  the  whisper 
in  a  plain  voice. 

"  I  want  to  go  home." 

"  I'm  not  ready  to  go  yet." 

And  her  head  went  round  to  its  former  position. 

"  Lizzie — Lizzie  ! "  urged  Rose  in  a  whisper, — "  How  can  you 
listen  to  that  man ! — you  oughtn't  to. — Lizzie  ! — " 

"  Hush,  Rose  !  be  quiet ! — I  will  listen.     Let  me  alone." 

Nor  could  Rose  move  her  again  by  words,  whispers,  or  pulls 
of  her  shoulder.  "  I  am  not  ready," — she  would  coolly  reply. 
Mrs.  Haye  was  in  despair,  but  constrained  to  keep  it  to  herself 
for  fear  she  should  be  obliged  to  accept  an  escort  home,  and  be- 
cause of   an  undefined  unwillingness  to  leave  Elizabeth  there 


368  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

alone.  She  had  to  wait,  and  play  the  agreeable  to  Mr.  Satter- 
thwaite,  for  both  her  other  companions  were  busy  listening ;  until 
Winthrop  had  finished  his  argument,  and  the  Chancellor  had 
nodded, 

"  I  allow  that  exception,  Mr.  Landholm — it  is  well  taken — 
Mr.  Brick,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

Mr.  Brick  rose  to  respond.  Elizabeth  rose  too  then,  and 
faced  about  upon  her  companions,  giving  them  this  silent  notice, 
for  she  deigned  no  word,  that  she  was  willing  Rose's  pleasure 
should  take  its  course.  Mr.  Satterthwaite  was  quite  ready,  and 
they  went  home ;  Elizabeth  changed  to  an  automaton  again. 

But  when  she  got  into  her  own  room  she  sat  down,  without- 
taking  oijf  her  bonnet,  to  think. 

"  This  is  that  farmer's  boy  that  father  wouldn't  help — and 
that  he  has  managed  to  separate  from  himself — and  from  me ! 
What  did  I  go  there  for  to-day?  Not  for  my  own  happiness — 
And  now  perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  again.  But  I  am  glad  I 
did  go ; — if  that  is  the  last." 

And  spring  months  and  summer  months  succeeded  each  other ; 
and  she  did  not  see  him  again. 


CHAPTEK   XXXIII. 

Since  he  doth  lack 
Of  going  back 

Little,  whose  will 
Doth  urge  him  to  run  wrong,  o   to  stand  still. 

Ben  Jonson. 

One  of  the  warm  evenings  in  that  summer,  when  the  windows 
were  all  open  of  Winthrop's  attic  and  the  candles  flared  in  the 
soft  breeze  from  the  sea,  Rufus  came  in.  Winthrop  only  gave 
him  a  look  and  a  smile  from  his  papers  as  he  appeared ;  and 
Rufus  flung  himself,  or  rather  dropped  down,  upon  the  empty 
couch  where  Winnie  used  to  lie.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  her 
came  to  him,  for  he  looked  exceedingly  sober ;  only  he  had  done 
that  ever  since  he  shewed  his  face  at  the  door.  For  some  minutes 
he  sat  in  absorbed  contemplation  of  Winthrop,  or  of  somewhat 
else;  he  was  certainly  looking  at  him.  Winthrop  looked  at 
nothing  but  his  papers ;  and  the  rustling  of  them  was  all  that 
was  heard,  beside  the  soft  rush  of  the  wind. 

C|  Always  at  work  ?  "  said  Rufus,  in  a  dismal  tone,  half  de- 
sponding and  wholly  disconsolate. 

"  Try  to  be. " 

"  Why  don't  you  snuff  those  candles  ?  "  was  the  next  question, 
given  with  a  good  deal  more  life. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  more  light,"  said  Winthrop,  stop- 
ping to  put  in  order  the  unruly  wicks  his  brother  referred  to. 

"  What  are  you  at  there  ?  " 

"  A  long  answer  in  chancery." 

"Ryle's?" 

"  No — Mr.  Eversham's  case." 

"  How  does  Ryle's  business  get  on  ?  " 

"  Yery  satisfactorily.     I've  got  light  upon  that  now." 
16* 


370  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  What's  the  last  thing  done  ?  " 

"  The  last  thing  I  did  was  to  file  a  replication,  bringing  the 
cause  to  an  issue  for  proofs ;  and  proofs  are  now  taking  before 
an  Examiner." 

"  You  have  succeeded  in  every  step  in  that  cause  ?  " 

"In  every  step." 

"  The  steps  must  have  been  well  taken." 

Winthrop  was  silent,  going  on  with  his  'answer.' 

"  How  much  do  you  expect  you'll  get  from  them  ?  " 

"  Can't  tell  yet.  I  somewhat  expect  to  recover  a  very  large 
sum." 

"  Winthrop — I  wish  I  was  a  lawyer — "  Rufus  said  presently 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Why  ?  "  -said  his  brother  calmly. 

"  I  should — or  at  least  I  might — be  doing  something." 

"  Then  you  think  all  the  work  of  the  world  rests  upon  the 
shoulders  of  lawyers  ?  I  knew  they  had  a  good  deal  to  do,  but 
not  so  much  as  that."" 

"  I  don't  see  anything  for  me  to  do,"  Rufus  said  despondingly. 

"  Is  it  not  possible  you  might,  if  you  looked  in  some  other 
direction  than  my  papers  ?  " 

Rufus  got  off  his  couch  and  began  gloomily  to  walk  up  and 
down. 

"  How  easily  those  who  are  doing  well  themselves  can  bear 
the  ill  haps  of  their  friends  !  "  he  said. 

Winthrop  went  back  to  his  papers  and  studied  them,  with  his 
usual  calm  face  and  in  silence,  for  some  time.  Rufus  walked  and 
cogitated  for  half  an  hour. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that,  Winthrop,"  were  his  first 
words.     "  But  now  look  at  me  !  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Winthrop  laying  down  his  c  answer ' — 
*  I  have  looked  at  many  a  worse  man." 

"  Can't  you  be  serious  ?  "  said  Rufus,  a  provoked  smile  forc- 
ing itself  upon  him. 

"I  thought  I  was  rarely  anything  else,"  said  Winthrop. 
u  But  now  I  look  at  you,  I  don't  see  anything  in  the  world  the 
matter." 

"  Yefc  look  at  our  different  positions — yours  and  mine." 

"  I'd  as  lieve  be  excused,"  said  Winthrop.  "  You  always 
made  the  best  show,  in  any  position." 

"  Other  people  don't  think  so,"  said  Rufus,  turning  with  a 
curious  struggle  of  feeling  in  his  face,  and  turning  to  hide  it  in 
his  walk  up  and  down. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  371 

"  What  ails  you,  Will? — I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  You  deserve  it ! "  said  Rufus,  swallowing  something  in  his 
mind  apparently,  that  cost  him  some  trouble. 

" I  don't  know  what  I  deserve,"  said  Winthrop  gravely.  "I 
am  afraid  I  have  not  got  it." 

"  How  oddly  and  rightly  we  were  nicknamed  in  childhood  ! ' 
Rufus  went  on  bitterly,  half  communing  with  himself. — "  I  for 
fiery  impulse,  and  you  for  calm  rule." 

"  I  don't  want  to  rule,"  said  Winthrop  half  laughing.  "  And 
I  assure  you  I  make  no  effort  after  it." 

"  You  do  it,  and  always  will.  You  have  the  love  and  respect 
and  admiration  of  everybody  that  knows  you — in  a  very  high 
degree ;  and  there  is  not  a  soul  in  the  world  that  cares  for  me, 
except  yourself." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  is  true,  Will,"  said  Winthrop  after  a 
little  pause.  "  But  even  suppose  it  were — those  are  not  the  things 
one  lives  for." 

"  What  does  one  live  for  then  !  "  Rufus  said  almost  fiercely. 

"  At  least  they  are  not  what  I  live  for,"  said  Winthrop  cor- 
recting himself. 

"  What  do  you  live  for  ?  " 

His  brother  hesitated. 

"  Eor  another  sort  of  approbation — That  I  may  hear  '  Well 
done,'  from  the  lips  of  my  King, — by  and  by." 

Rufus  bit  his  lip  and  for  several  turns  walked  the  room  in 
silence — evidently  because  he  could  not  speak.  Perhaps  the 
words,  '  Them  that  honour  me,  I  will  honour,' — might  have  come 
to  his  mind.  But  when  at  last  he  began  to  talk,  it  was  not  upon 
that  thenm 

"  Govern  or  M — he  said  in  a  quieter  tone, — "  I  wish  you  would 
help  me." 

"I  will— if  I  can." 

"  Tell  me  what  I  shall  do." 

"  Tell  me  your  own  thoughts  first,  Will." 

"  I  have  hardly  any.  The  world  at  large  seems  a  wretched 
and  utter  blank  to  me." 

"  Make  your  mark  on  it,  then." 

"  Ah  ! — that  is  what  we  used  to  say.— I  don't  see  how  it  is  to 
be  done." 

11  It  is  to  be  done  in  many  ways,  Rufus ;  in  many  courses  of 
action ;  and  there  is  hardly  one  you  can  set  your  hand  to,  in 
which  it  may  not  be  done." 

Rufus  again  struggled  with  some  feeling  that  was  too  much 
for  him. 


372  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Your  notions  have  changed  a  little  from  the  old  ones, — 
and  I  have  kept  mine,"  he  said. 

"  I  spoke  of  making  your  mark, — not  of  being  seen  to  do 
it,"  his  brother  returned. 

Again  Rufus  was  silent. 

"  Well  but  the  question  is  not  of  that  now,"  he  said,  "  but  of 
doing  something  ; — to  escape  from  the  dishonour  and  the  misery 
of  doing  nothing." 

"  Still  you  have  not  told  me  your  thoughts,  "Will.  You  are  not 
fit  for  a  merchant." 

"  I'll  never  enter  a  counting-house  again  ! — for  anything  !  " 
was  Rufus's  reply. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  take  up  my  old  trade  of 
engineering  again,  just  where  I  left  it  off." 

Rufus  walked,  and  walked. 

"  But  I  am  fit  for  better  things," — he  said  at  length. 

"  Then  you  are  fit  for  that." 

"  I  suppose  that  follows,"  said  Rufus  with  some  disdainful 
expression, 

"  There  is  no  more  respectable  profession." 

"  It  gives  a  man  small  chance  to  distinguish  himself,"  said 
Rufus, — "  and  it  takes  one  out  of  the  world." 

"  Distinction  may  be  attained  almost  anywhere,"  said  Win- 
throp. 

"  '  Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  thy  laws, 
*  '  Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine.'  * 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  do  it ! "  was  Rufus's  scornful 
rejoinder. 

"What?" 

"  Sweep  rooms  by  way  of  distinction." 

"  I  donV  know  about  the  distinction,"  said  Winthrop ;  "  but  the 
thing  you  may  see  me  do  any  morning,  if  you  come  at  the  right 
hour." 

"  Sweep  these  rooms  ?  " 

"  With  a  broomstick." 

"  Why  Winthrop,  that's  beneath  you  !  " 

u  I  have  been  thinking  so  lately,"  said  Winthrop.  "  It  wasn't, 
in  the  days  when  I  couldn't  afford  to  pay  any  one  for  doing  it ; 
and  those  days  reached  down  to  a  very  late  point." 

"Afford!"  said  Rufus,  standing  still  in  his  walk; — "Why 
you  have  made  money  enough  ever  since  you  began  practice,  to 
afford  such  a  thing  as  that." 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    6HATEMUC.  373 

"  Ay — if  I  could  have  put  it  all  on  the  floor." 

"  Where  had  you  to  put  it  ?  " 

"  I  had  Mr.  Inchbald  to  reward  for  his  long  trust  in  me,  and 
Mr.  Herder  to  reimburse  for  his  kindness, — and  some  other 
sources  of  expenditure  to  meet." 

"  Mr.  Herder  could  have  been  paid  out  of  the  costs  of  this 
lawsuit." 

"  No,  he  couldn't." 

"  And  thereupon,  you  would  recommend  the  profession  of  a 
street-sweeper  to  me!"  said  Rufus,  beginning  his  walk  with  re- 
newed energy. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  think  I  would  not,"  said  Wmthrop  gravely. 
*  I  am  of  opinion  you  can  do  something  better." 

"  I  don't  like  engineering  !  "  said  Rufus  presently. 

"  What  do  you  like  ?  " 

Rufus  stopped  and  stood  looking  thoughtfully  on  the  table 
where  Winthrop's  papers  lay. 

"  I  consider  that  to  be  as  honourable,  as  useful,  and  I  should 
think  quite  as  pleasant  a  way  of  life,  as  the  one  I  follow." 

"  Do  you  ? — "  said  Rufus,  looking  at  the  long  '  answer  in 
Chancery.' 

"  I  would  as  lieve  go  into  it  to-morrow,  and  make  over  my 
inkstand  to  you,  if  I  were  only  fit  for  that  and  you  for  this." 

"  Would  you  ! "  said  Rufus,  mentally  conceding  that  his 
brother  was  '  fit '  for  anything. 

"  Just  as  lieve." 

Rufus's  brow  lightened  considerably,  and  he  took  up  his  walk 
again. 

"  What  would  you  like  better,  Will  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — '  said  Rufus  meditatively — "  I  believe  I'll 
take  your  advice.  There  was  an  offer  made  to  me  a  week  or  two 
ago — at  least  I  was  spoken  to,  in  reference  to  a  Southern  piece 
of  business " 

"  Not  another  agency  ?  " 

"  No — no,  engineering ; — but  I  threw  it  off,  not  thinking  then, 
or  not  knowing,  that  I  would  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
the  matter — I  dare  say  it's  not  too  late  yet." 

"  But  Will,"  said  his  brother,  "  whatever  choice  you  make 
now,  it  is  your  last  choice." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  my  last  choice  ?  "  said  Rufus. 

"  Because  it  ought  to  be." 

Rufus  took  to  silence  and  meditating  again. 


374  THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Any  profession  rightly  managed,  will  carry  you  to  the  goal 
of  honour ;  but  no  two  will,  ridden  alternately. 

"  It  seems  so,"  said  Rufus  bitterly. 

And  he  walked  and  meditated,  back  and  forth  through  the 
room ;  while  Winthrop  lost  himself  in  his  c  answer.'  The  silence 
lasted  this  time  till  Rufus  came  up  to  the  table  and  extending 
his  hand  bid  his  brother  '  good  night.' 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  said  Winthrop  starting  up. 

"  Yes — going ;  and  going  South,  and  going  to  be  an  engineer, 
and  if  possible  to  reach  the  goal  of  honour  on  the  back  of  that 
calling,  by  some  mysterious  road  which  as  yet  I  see  not." 

"  Stay  here  to-night,  Will." 

"  No,  I  can't — I've  got  to  see  somebody." 

"All  night?"  ■ 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Rufus  smiling.  "  I  suppose  I  could  come 
back ;  more  especially  as  I  am  going  bona  fide  away.  By  the 
way,  Winthrop,  do  you  know  they  say  the  yellow  fever  is 
here  ?  " 

"  I  know  they  say  so." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  I  mean,  of  course,  if  the  report  is  true." 

"  So  I  mean." 

"  But  you  will  not  stay  here  ?  " 

"I  think  I  will." 

"  But  it  would  be  much  better  to  go  out  of  town." 

"If  I  think  so,  I'll  go." 

"I'll  make  you  think  so,"  said  Rufus  putting  on  his  hat,— 
f<  or  else  I  won't  go  engineering !     I'll  be  back  in  an  hour." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV  . 


Tea,  men  may  wonder,  while  they  (scan 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man, 
In  such  a  rest  his  heart  to  keep; 
But  angels  say,— and  through  the  word 
I  ween  their  blessed  smile  is  heard, — 
"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  1 " 

Elizabeth  Bakeett  Beowning. 

Notwithstanding  however  Rufus's  assurance,  he  did  go  off  to 
his  engineering  and  he  did  not  succeed  in  changing  his  brother's 
mind.  Winthrop  abode  in  his  place,  to  meet  whatever  the  summer 
had  in  store  for  him. 

It  brought  the  city's  old  plague,  though  not  with  such  fearful 
presence  as  in  years  past.  Still  the  name  and  the  dread  of  it 
were  abroad,  and  enough  of  its  power  to  justify  them.  Many 
that  could,  ran  away  from  the  city ;  and  business,  if  it  was  not 
absolutely  checked,  moved  sluggishly.  There  was  much  less 
than  usual  done. 

There  was  little  in  "Winthrop's  line,  certainly.  Yet  in  the 
days  of  vacant  courts  and  laid-by  court  business,  the  tenant  of 
Mr.  Inchbald's  attic  went  out  and  came  in  as  often  as  formerly. 
What  he  did  with  his  time  was  best  known  to  himself. 

"  I  wonder  how  he  does,  now,  all  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley 
to  her  brother. 

"  I've  a  notion  he  isn't  so  much  of  the  time  alone,"  said  Mr. 
Inchbald.  "  He's  not  at  home  any  more  than  he  used  to  be,  nor 
so  much.  I  hear  him  going  up  or  down  the  stairs — night 
and  day." 

"  Surely  there  are  no  courts  now  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley. 

"  Never  are  in  August — and  especially  not  now,  of  course." 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  lonesome,  poor  fellow  1 " 

"  Never  saw  a  fellow  look  less  like  it,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald. 


376  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  He's  a  strong  man,  he  is,  in  his  heart  and  mind.  I  should 
expect  to  see  one  of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  come  down  as  soon  aa 
either  of  'em.     Lonesome  ?  I  never  saw  him  look  lonesome." 

"  He  has  a  trick  of  not  shewing  what  he  feels  then,"  said  his 
sister.  "  I've  seen  him  times  when  I  know  he  felt  lonesome, — 
though  as  you  say,  I  can't  say  he  shewed  it.  He's  a  strong  build 
of  a  man,  too,  George." 

"  Like  body,  like  mind,"  said  her  brother.  "  Yes.  I  like 
to  see   a  man  all  of  a  piece.     But  his  brother  has  a  finer  figure. '; 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley.  "  That's  for  a 
painter.     Now  I  like  Winthrop's  the  best." 

"  That's  for  a  woman,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald  laughing.  "  You 
always  like  what  you  love." 

"  Well  what  do  you  suppose  he  finds  to  keep  him  out  so 
much  of  the  time  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Inchbald, — "  and  I  daren't  ask 
him.     I  doubt  some  poor  friends  of  his  know." 

"Why  do  you?" 

u  I  can't  tell  you  why ; — something — the  least  trifle,  once  or 
twice,  has  given  me  the  idea." 

"  He's  a  Christian  to  look  at !  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley,  busying 
herself  round  her  stove  and  speaking  in  rather  an  undertone. 
"  He's  worse  than  a  sermon  to  me,  many  times." 

Her  brother  turned  slowly  and  went  out,  thereby  confessing, 
his  sister  thought,  that  Winthrop  had  been  as  bad  as  a  sermon 
to  him. 

As  he  went  out  he  saw  a  girl  just  mounting  the  stairs. 

"  Is  Mr.  Landholm  in  ?  "  she  said  putting  her  head  over  the 
balusters. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  girl — I  think  he  may  be." 

"  I'll  know  before  long,"  she  rejoined,  taking  the  stairs  at  a 
rate  that  shewed  she  meant  what  she  said.  Like  no  client  at  law 
that  ever  sought  his  lawyer's  chambers,  on  any  errand.  Before 
Mr.  Inchbald  had  reached  the  first  landing,  she  was  posted  before 
the  desired  door,  and  had  tapped  there  with  very  alert  fingers. 
Winthrop  opened  the  door. 

"  Clam  !  "—said  he.—"  Come  in." 

"  Mr.  Winthrop,"  said  Clam,  coming  in  as  slowly  as  she  had 
mounted  the  stairs  fast,  and  speaking  with  unusual  deliberation, 
and  not  in  the  least  out  of  breath, — "  don't  you  want  to  help 
the  distressed  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  Clam  ?  " 

"  Why  Mr.  Haye's  took,  and  Miss  'Lizabeth's  all  alone  with 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  377 

him ;  and  she's  a  little  too  good  to  be  let  die  of  fright  and  worry, 
if  she  ain't  perfect.     Few  people  are." 

"  All  alone  !  " 

"  She's  keeping  house  with  him  all  alone  this  minute." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  all  alone  ?  " 

"'When  there  ain't  but  two  people  in  the  house  and  ono  o' 
them's  deathly  sick." 

"  Where  are  the  servants  ?  and  Mrs.  Haye  ?  " 

"  They  was  all  afraid  they'd  be  took — she  and  them  both  ; 
so  they  all  run — the  first  one  the  best  feller.  I  stayed,  'cause  I 
thought  the  yaller  fever  wouldn't  do  much  with  one  o'  my  skin ; 
and  anyhow  it  was  as  good  to  die  in  the  house  as  in  the  street — 
I'd  rather." 

^  When  did  they  go  ?  "  said  Winthrop  beginning  to  put  up 
books  and  papers. 

"  Cleared  out  this  mornin' — as  soon  as  they  knowed  what  was 
the  matter  with  Mr.  Haye." 

"  His  wife  too  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  Not  she  !  she  went  off  for  fear  she'd  be  scared — years  ago." 

"  Has  Miss  Haye  sent  for  no  friends  ?  " 

"  She  says  there  ain't  none  to  send  to :  and  I  guess  there 
ain't."  g 

"Run  home  to  your  mistress,  Clam,  as  fast  as  you  can. — 
When  was  Mr.  Haye  taken  sick  ?  " 

"  Some  time  yesterday.    Then  you're  comin',  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  " 

"Yes.     Bun." 

Clam  ran  home.  But  quick  as  her  speed  had  been,  when  she 
got  the  handle  of  the  door  in  her  hand  she  saw  a  figure  that  she 
knew,  coming  down  the  street ;  and  waited  for  him  to  come  up. 
Winthrop  and  she  passed  into  the  house  together. 

The  gentleman  turned  into  one  of  the  deserted  parlours ;  and 
Clam  with  a  quick  and  soft  step  ran  up  stairs  and  into  the  sick 
room.  Mr.  Haye  lay  there  unconscious.  Elizabeth  was  sitting 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  a  face  of  stern  and  concentrated 
anxiety. 

"  Here's  the  stuff,"  said  Clam,  setting  some  medicine  on  the 
table ; — "  and  there's  a  gentleman  down  stairs  that  wants  to  see 
you,  Miss  'Lizabeth — on  business." 

"  Business  !  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  Did  you  tell  him  what  was 
in  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  told  him,"  said  Clam,  "  and  he  don't  care.  He  wants  to 
see  you." 

Elizabeth  had  no  words  to  waste,  nor  heart  to  speak  them. 


378  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

She  got  up  and  went  down  stairs  and  in  at  the  open  parlour  door, 
like  a  person  who  walks  in  a  dream  through  a  dreadful  labyrinth 
of  pain,  made  up  of  what  used  to  be  familiar  objects  of  pleasure. 
So  she  went  in.  But  so  soon  as  her  eye  caught  the  figure  stand- 
ing before  the  fireplace,  though  she  did  not  know  what  he  had 
come  there  for,  only  that  he  was  there,  her  heart  sprang  as  to  a 
pillar  of  hope.  She  stopped  short  and  her  two  hands  were  brought 
together  with  an  indescribable  expression,  telling  of  relief. 

"  Oh  Mr.  Landholm !  what  brought  you  here  !  " 

He  came  forward  to  where  she  stood  and  took  one  of  her 
hands ;  and  felt  that  she  was  trembling  like  a  shaking  leaf. 

"  How  is  your  father  ?  "  was  his  question. 

M I  don't  know !  "  said  Elizabeth  bending  down  her  head 
while  tears  began  to  run  fast, — "  I  don't  know  anything  attout 
sickness — I  never  was  with  anybody  before—" 

She  had  felt  one  other  time  the  gentle  kind  hands  which, 
while  her  own  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears,  led  her  and  placed 
her  on  the  sofa.  Elizabeth  took  the  sofa  cushion  in  both  arms 
and  laid  her  head  upon  it,  turning  her  face  from  her  companion ; 
and  her  whole  frame  was  racked  and  shaken  with  terrible 
agitation. 

In  a  few  minutes  this  violent  expression  of  feeling  came  to  an 
end.  She  took  her  arms  from  the  pillow  and  sat  up  and  spoke 
again  to  the  friend  at  her  side ;  who  meanwhile  had  been  per- 
fectly quiet,  offering  neither  to  check  nor  to  comfort  her.  Eliza- 
beth went  back  to  a  repetition  of  her  last  remark,  as  if  for  an 
excuse. 

"  I  never  even  tried  to  nurse  anybody  before — and  the  doctor 
couldn't  stay  with  me  this  morning " 

"  I  will  do  both  now,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  What  ?  " — said  Elizabeth  looking  at  him  bewilderedly. 

"  Stay  with  you,  and  take  care  of  Mr.  Haye." 

"  Oh  no !  you  must  not !  "  she  said  with  a  sort  of  eager 
seriousness ; — "  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  you." 

"  I  have  seen  something  of  the  disease,"  he  said  smiling 
slightly,  "  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  it. — Are  you  ?  " 

«  Oh  yes !— oh  yes  ! !  " 

How  much  was  confessed  in  the  tone  of  those  words ! — and 
she  hid  her  face  again.     But  her  companion  made  no  remark. 

"  Is  there  no  friend  you  would  like  to  have  sent  for  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  not  one  !  not  one  here and  not 

anywhere,  that  I  should  care  to  have  with  me." 

"  May  I  go  up  and  see  Mr.  Hayo  now  ?  "  he  said  presently. 
"Which  is  the  room?" 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEHUC.  379 

Elizabeth  rose  up  to  shew  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  gently  motioning  her  back, — "  I  am  going 
alone.     You  must  stay  here." 
,    "  But  I  must  go  too,  Mr.  Landholm  ! " 

"  Not  if  I  go,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  am  his  daughter, — I  must." 

M  I  am  not  his  daughter — so  as  far  as  that  goes  we  are  even. 
And  by  your  own  confession  you  know  nothing  of  the  matter ; 
and  I  do.     No — you  must  not  go  above  this  floor." 

u  Until  when,  Mr.  Landholm  ? "  said  Elizabeth  looking 
terrified. 

"  Until  new  rules  are  made,"  he  said  quietly.  "  While  you 
can  do  nothing  in  your  father's  room,  both  for  him  and  for  you  it 
is  much  better  that  you  should  not  be  there." 

"  And  can't  I  do  anything  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  If  I  think  you  are  wanted,  I  will  let  you  know.  Mean- 
while there  is  one  thing  that  can  be  done  everywhere." 

He  spoke,  looking  at  her  with  a  face  of  steady  kind  gravity. 
Elizabeth  could  not  meet  it ;  she  trembled  with  the  eflbrt  she 
made  to  control  herself. 

"  It  is  the  thing  of  all  others  that  I  cannot  do,  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  Learn  it  now,  then.     Which  is. the  room ? " 

Elizabeth  told  him,  without  raising  her  eyes ;  and  stood 
motionless  on  the  floor  where  he  left  her,  without  stirring  a  finger, 
as  long  as  she  could  hear  the  sound  of  his  footsteps.  They  went 
first  to  the  front  door,  and  she  heard  him  turn  the  key ;  then 
they  went  up  the  stairs. 

The  locking  of  that  door  went  to  her  heart,  with  a  sense  of 
comfort,  of  dependence,  of  unbounded  trust  in  the  hand,  the 
heart,  the  head,  that  had  done  it.  It  roused,  or  the  taking  off 
of  restraint  roused  again,  all  the  tumult  of  passions  that  had 
raged  after  her  first  coming  in.  She  dropped  on  her  knees  by 
the  sofa  and  wrapping  her  arms  round  the  cushion  as  she  had 
done  before,  she  laid  her  head  down  on  it,  and  to  all  feeling  laid 
her  heart  down  too ;  such  bitter  and  deep  and  long  sobs  shook 
and  racked  her  breast. 

She  was  alive  to  nothing  but  feeling  and  the  indulgence  of  it, 
and  careless  how  much  time  the  indulgence  of  it  might  take.  It 
was  passion's  time.  She  was  startled  when  two  hands  took  hold 
of  her  and  a  grave  voice  said, 

"  If  you  do  in  this  way,  I  shall  have  two  patients  instead  of 
one,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

Elizabeth  suffered  herself  to  be  lifted  up  and  placed  on  the 


380  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

sofa,  and  sat  down  like  a  child.  Even  at  the  instant  came  a  flash 
of  recollection  bringing  back  the  time,  long  past,  when  Winthrop 
had  lifted  her  out  of  the  rattlesnake's  way.  She  felt  ashamed 
and  rebuked. 

"  This  is  not  the  lesson  I  set  you,"  he  said  gently. 

Elizabeth's  head  drooped  lower.  She  felt  that  he  had  two 
patients — if  he  had  only  known  it ! 

"  You  might  set  me  a  great  many  lessons  that  I  should  be 
slow  to  learn,  Mr.  Landholm,"  she  said  sadly. 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  said  in  his  usual  tone.  "  There  is  no  present 
occasion  for  this  distress.  I  cannot  see  that  Mr.  Haye's  symptoms 
are  particularly  unfavourable." 

Elizabeth  could  have  answered  a  great  deal  to  that ;  but  she 
only  said,  tearfully, 

"  How  good  you  are  to  take  care  of  him !  " 

"  I  will  be  as  good  as  I  can,"  said  he  smiling  a  little.  "  I 
should  like  to  have  you  promise  to  do  as  much." 

"  That  would  be  to  promise  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Landholm," 
said  Elizabeth  looking  up  earnestly. 

"  What  then  ?  " 

Elizabeth  looked  down  and  was  silent,  but  musing  much 
to  herself. 

"  Is  it  too  much  of  a  promise  to  make  ?  "  said  he  gravely. 

"No — "said  Elizabeth  slowly, — "but  more  than  I  am  ready 
to  make." 

"Why  is  that?" 

"  Because,  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  she  looking  up  again  at  him, 
"  I  don't  believe  I  should  keep  it  if  I  made  it." 

"  You  expect  me  to  say,  in  that  case  you  are  quite  right  not 
to  make  it.     No, — you  are  quite  wrong." 

He  waited  a  little ;  but  said  no  more,  and  Elizabeth  could 
not.  Then  he  left  the  room  and  she  heard  him  going  down 
stairs  /  Her  first  thought  was  to  spring  up  and  go  after  to  help 
him  to  whatever  he  wanted ;  then  she  remembered  that  he  and 
Clam  could  manage  it  without  her,  and  that  he  would  certainly 
choose  to  have  it  so.  She  curled  herself  up  on  her  sofa  and  lay- 
ing her  head  on  the  cushion  in  more  quiet  wise,  she  went  off  into 
a  long  fit  of  musing;  for  Winthrop's  steps,  when  they  came 
from  down  stairs  went  straight  up  stairs  again,  without  turning 
into  the  parlour.  She  mused,  on  her  duty,  her  danger,  her 
sorrow  and  her  joy.  There  was  something  akin  to  joy  in  the 
enormous  comfort,  rest,  and  pleasure  she  felt  in  Winthrop's  pre- 
sence.    But  it  was  very  grave  musing  after  all ;  for  her  duty,  or 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  381 

the  image  of  it,  she  shrank  from;  her  danger  she  shrank  from 
more  unequivocally ;  and  joy  and  sorrow  could  but  hold  a  mixed 
and  miserable  reign.  The  loss  of  her  father  could  not  be  to 
Elizabeth  what  the  loss  of  his  mother  had  been  to  Winthrop. 
Mr.  Haye  had  never  made  himself  a  part  of  his  daughter's  daily 
inner  life ;  to  her  his  death  could  be  only  the  breaking  of  the  old 
name  and  tie  and  associations,  which  of  late  years  had  become 
far  less  dear  than  they  used  to  be.  Yet  to  Elizabeth,  who  had 
nothing  else,  they  were  very  much ;  and  she  looked  to  the  possible 
loss  of  them  as  to  a  wild  and  dreary  setting  adrift  upon  the  sea  of 
life  without  harbour  or  shore  to  make  anywhere.  And  then  rose  the 
shadowy  image  of  a  fair  port  and  land  of  safety,  which  conscience 
whispered  she  could  gain  if  she  would.  But  sailing  was  necessary 
for  that ;  and  chart-studying  ;  and  watchful  care  of  the  ship,  and 
many  an  observation  taken  by  heavenly  lights ;  and  Elizabeth 
had  not  even  begun  to  be  a  sailor.  She  turned  these  things  over 
and  over  in  her  mind  a  hundred  times,  one  after  another,  like 
the  visions  of  a  dream,  while  the  hours  of  the  day  stole  away 
noiselessly. 

The  afternoon  waned ;  the  doctor  came.  Elizabeth  sprang 
out  to  meet  him,  referred  him  to  her  coadjutor  up  stairs,  and  then 
waited  for  his  coming  down  again.  But  the  doctor  when  he 
came  could  tell  her  nothing ;  there  was  no  declarative  symptom 
as  yet ;  he  knew  no  more  than  she  did ;  she  must  wait.  She 
went  back  to  her  sofa  and  her  musing. 

The  windows  were  open,  but  with  the  sultry  breath  of  August 
little  din  of  business  came  into  the  room ;  the  place  was  very 
quiet.  The  house  was  empty  and  still ;  seldom  a  footfall  could 
be  heard  overhead.  Clam  was  busy,  up  stairs  and  down,  but  she 
went  with  a  light  step  when  she  pleased,  and  she  pleased  it  now. 
It  was  a  relief  to  have  the  change  of  falling  night ;  and  then  the 
breeze  from  the  sea  began  to  come  in  at  the  windows  and  freshen 
the  hot  rooms ;  and  twilight  deepened.  Elizabeth  wished  for  a 
light  then,  but  for  once  in  her  life  hesitated  about  ringing  the 
bell ;  for  she  had  heard  Clam  going  up  and  down  and  feared  she 
might  be  busied  for  some  one  else.  And  she  thought,  with  a 
heart  full,  how  dismal  this  coming  on  of  night  would  have  been, 
but  for  the  friend  up  stairs.  Elizabeth  wished  bitterly  she  could 
follow  his  advice. 

She  sat  looking  out  of  the  open  window  into  the  dustiness, 
and  at  the  yellow  lights  of  the  street  lamps  which  by  this  time 
spotted  it ;  thinking  so,  and  feeling  very  miserable.  By  and  by 
Clam  came  in  with  a  candle  and  began  to  let  down  the  blinds. 


382  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMTJC. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  her  mistress.  "  Yon 
needn't  pull  those  down." 

"  Folks '11  see  in,"  said  Clam. 

"  No  they  won't — there's  no  light  here." 

"  There's  goin'  to  he,  though,"  said  Clam.  "  Things  is  goin1 
straight  in  this  house,  as  two  folks  can  make  'em." 

"  I  don't  want  anything — you  may  let  the  lamps  alone, 
Clam." 

"  I  dursn't,"  said  Clam,  going  on  leisurely  to  light  the  two 
large  burners  of  the  mantle  lamps, — (  Mr.  Winthrop  told  me  to 
get  tea  for  you  and  do  everything  just  as  it  was  every  night ;  so 
I  knowed  these  had  to  be  flarin'  up — You  ain't  goin'  to  be  al- 
lowed to  sit  in  the  shades  no  longer." 

"I  don't  want  anything!"  said  Elizabeth.  "Don't  bring 
any  tea  here." 

"  Then  I'll  go  up  and  tell  him  his  orders  is  contradickied," 
said  Clam. 

"  Stop  ! "  said  her  mistress  when  she  had  reached  the  door 
walking  off, — "  don't  carry  any  foolish  speech  up  stairs  at  such 
a  time  as  this ; — fetch  what  you  like  and  do  what  you  like, — I 
don't  care." 

The  room  was  brilliantly  lighted  now ;  and  Clam  set  the 
salver  on  the  table  and  brought  in  the  tea-urn ;  and  miserable  as 
she  felt,  Elizabeth  half  confessed  to  herself  that  her  coadjutor  up 
stairs  was  right.  Better  this  pain  than  the  other.  If  the  body 
was  nothing  a  gainer,  the  mind  perhaps  might  be,  for  keeping  up 
the  wonted  habits  and  appearances. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Landholm  to  come  down,  Clam." 

"  I  did  ask  him,"  said  the  handmaiden,  "  and  he  don't  want 
nothin'  but  biscuits,  and  he's  got  lots  o'  them." 

"  Won't  he  have  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  He  knows  his  own  mind  mostly,"  said  Clam  ;  "  and  he  says 
he  won't." 

"  What  arrangements  can  you  make  for  his  sleeping  up  there 
to-night,  Clam  ?  " 

"  Him  and  me  '11  see  to  it  "  responded  Clam  confidently. 
"  I  know  pretty  much  what's  in  the  house ;  and  the  best  of  it 
ain't  too  good  for  him." 

So  Elizabeth  drank  her  cup  of  tea  alone;  and  sat  alone  through 
the  long  evening  and  mused.  For  still  it  was  rather  musing 
than  thinking  ;  going  over  things  past  and  things  present ;  things 
future  she  cared  not  much  to  meddle  with.  It  was  not  a  good 
time,  she  said  for  taking  up  her  religious  wants  and  duties ;  and 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.  383 

in  part  that  was  true,  severely  as  she  felt  them ;  for  her  mind 
was  in  such  a  slow  fever  that  none  of  its  pulses  were  healthful. 
Fear,  and  foreboding,  for  her  father  and  for  herself, — hope  spring- 
ing along  with  the  fear ;  a  strong  sense  that  her  character  was 
different  from  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  a  strong  wish  that  it  were 
not, — and  a  yet  mightier  leaning  in  another  direction  ; — all  of 
these,  meeting  and  modifying  each  other  and  struggling  together, 
seemed  to  run  in  her  veins  and  to  tell  in  each  beat  of  the  tiny 
timekeeper  at  her  wrist.  How  could  she  disentangle  one  from 
the  other,  or  give  a  quiet  mind  to  anything,  when  she  had  it  not 
to  give  ? 

She  was  just  bitterly  asking  herself  this  question,  when  Win- 
throp  came  in  at  the  open  parlour  door  ;  and  the  immediate  bitter 
thought  which  arose  next  was,  did  he  ever  have  any  but  a  quiet 
mind  to  give  to  anything  ?  The  two  bitters  were  so  strong  upon 
her  tongue  that  they  kept  it  still ;  till  he  had  walked  up  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  her  sofa. 

"  How  is  my  father,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  "  she  said  rising  and 
meeting  him. 

"  As  you  mean  the  question  I  cannot  answer  it — There  is 
nothing  declarative,  Miss  Elizabeth.  Yes,"  he  said  kindly, 
meeting  and  answering  her  face, — "you  must  wait  yet  awhile 
longer." 

Elizabeth  sat  down  again,  and  looked  down. 

"  Are  you  troubled  with  fears  for  yourself  ?  "  he  said  gently, 
taking  a  chair  near  her. 

"  No—"  Elizabeth  said,  and  said  truly.  She  could  have  told 
nim,  what  indeed  she  could  not,  that  since  his  coming  into  the 
house  another  feeling  had  overmastered  that  fear,  and  kept 
it  under. 

"  At  least,"  she  added, — "  I  suppose  I  have  it,  but  it  doesn't 
trouble  me  now." 

"  I  came  down  on  principle,"  said  he, — "  to  exchange  the 
office  of  nurse  for  that  of  physician ; — thinking  it  probably  better 
that  you  should  see  me  for  a  few  minutes,  than  see  nobody  at  all." 

"  I  am  sure  you  were  right,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  felt  awhile 
ago  as  if  my  head  would  go  crazy  with  too  many  thoughts." 

"  Must  be  unruly  thoughts,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  They  were,"  said  she  looking  up. 

"  Can't  you  manage  unruly  thoughts  ?  " 

"  No  ! — never  could." 

"  Do  vou  know  what  happens  in  that  case  ? — They  manage 

you." 


384  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  There  they  are 
and  here  am  I ; — they  are  strong  and  I  am  weak." 

"  If  they  are  the  strongest,  they  will  rule." 

Elizabeth  sat  silent,  thinking  her  counsellor  was  very  un- 
satisfactory. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sit  up  all  night,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  No — I  suppose  not — " 

a  I  shall ;  so  you  may  feel  easy  about  being  alone  down  here. 
There  could  be  no  disturbance,  I  think,  without  my  knowing  it. 
Let  Clam  be  here  to  keep  you  company ;  and  take  the  best  rest 
you  can." 

It  was  impossible  for  Elizabeth  to  sa'y  a  word  of  thanks,  or 
of  his  kindness ;  the  words  choked  her ;  she  was  mute. 

"  Can  I  do  anything,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world — but  manage  your  thoughts,"  he  said 
smiling. 

Elizabeth  was  almost  choked  again,  with  the  rising  of  tears 
this  time. 

"  But  Mr.  Landholm — about  that — what  is  wrong  cannot  be 
necessary ;  there  must  be  some  way  of  managing  them  ?  " 

"  You  know  it,"  he  said  simply. 

But  it  finished  Elizabeth's  power  of  speech.  She  did  not 
even  attempt  to  look  up ;  she  sat  pressing  her  chin  with  her 
hand,  endeavouring  to  keep  down  her  heart  and  to  keep  steady 
her  quivering  lips.  Her  companion,  who  in  the  midst  of  all  her 
troubles  she  many  times  that  evening  thought  was  unlike  any 
other  person  that  ever  walked,  presently  went  out  into  the  hall 
and  called  to  Clam  over  the  balusters. 

"  Is  he  going  to  give  her  directions  about  taking  care  of  me  ?  " 
thought  Elizabeth  in  a  great  maze,  as  Winthrop  came  back  into 
the  parlour  and  sat  down  again.  When  Clam  appeared  however 
he  only  bade  her  take  a  seat ;  and  then  bringing  forth  a  bible 
from  his  pocket  he  opened  it  and  read  the  ninety-first  psalm. 
Hardly  till  then  it  dawned  upon  Elizabeth  what  he  was  thinking 
to  do  ;  and  then  the  words  that  he  read  went  through  and  through 
her  heart  like  drawn  daggers.  One  after  another,  one  after 
another.  Little  he  imagined,  who  read,  what  strength  her  esti- 
mate of  the  reader's  character  gave  them ;  nor  how  that  same 
estimate  made  every  word  of  his  prayer  tell,  and  go  home  to  her 
spirit  with  the  sharpness  as  well  as  the  gentleness  of  Ithuriel's 
spear.  When  Elizabeth  rose  from  her  knees,  it  was  with  a  bowed 
head  which  she  could  in  no  wise  lift  up ;  and  after  Winthrop  had 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMIJC.  385 

left  the  room,  Clam  stood  looking  at  her  mistress  and  thinking 
her  own  thoughts,  as  long  as  she  pleased  unrebuked. 

"  One  feels  sort  o'  good  after  that,  now,  don't  they  ?  "  was  her 
opening  remark,  when  Elizabeth's  head  was  at  last  raised  from  her 
hands.  "  Do  you  think  the  roof  of  any  house  would  ever  fall  in 
over  his  head  ?     He's  better'n  a  regiment  o'  soldiers." 

M  Is  everything  attended  to  down  stairs,  Clam*?  " 

u  All's  straight  where  the  Governor  is,"  said  Clam  with  a 
sweeping  bend  of  her  head,  and  going  about  to  set  the  room  in 
order ; — "  there  ain't  two  straws  laid  the  wrong  way." 

"  Where  he  is  !  "  repeated  Elizabeth — u  He  isn't  in  the 
kitchen,  I  suppose,  Clam." 

"  Whenever  he's  in  the  house,  always  seems  to  me  he's  all 
over,"  said  Clam.  "  It's  about  that.  He's  a  governor,  you  know. 
Now  Miss  'Lizabeth,  how  am  I  goin*  to  fix  you  for  the  night  ?  " 

"  No  way,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  shall  just  sleep  here,  as  I  am. 
Let  the  lamps  burn,  and  shut  down  the  blinds." 

"  And  then  will  I  go  off  to  the  second  story  and  leave  you  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed — Fetch  something  that  y  &u  can  lay  on  the  floor, 
and  stay  here  with  me." 

Which  Clam  presently  did;  nothing  more  than  a  blanket 
however ;  and  remarked  as  she  curled  herself  down  with  her  head 
upon  her  arm, 

"  Ain't  he  a  handsome  man,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Who  ? — "  ungraciously  enough. 

"  Why,  the  Governor." 

"  Yes,  for  aught  I  know.  Lie  still  and  go  to  sleep,  Clam,  4f 
you  can  ;  and  let  me." 

Very  promptly  Clam  obeyed  this  command;  but  her  less 
happy  mistress,  as  soon  as  the  deep  drawn  breaths  told  her  she 
was  alone  again,  sat  up  on  her  sofa  to  get  in  a  change  of  posture 
a  change  from  pain. 

How  alone  ! — In  the  parlour  after  midnight,  with  the  lamps 
burning  as  if  the  room  were  gay  with  company ;  herself,  in  her 
morning  dress,  on  the  sofa  for  a  night's  rest,  and  there  on  her 
blanket  on  the  carpet,  Clam  already  taking  it.  How  it  told  the 
story,  of  illness  and  watching  and  desertion  and  danger ;  how  it 
put  life  and  death  in  near  and  strong  contrast ;  and  the  summer 
wind  blew  in  through  the  blinds  and  pushed  the  blinds  them- 
selves gently  out  into  the  room,  just  as  Elizabeth  had  seen  and 
felt  in  many  a  bright  and  happy  hour  not  so  long  past.  The 
same  summer  breath,  and  the  summer  so  different !  Elizabeth 
could  hardly  bear  it.  She  longed  to  rush  up  stairs  where  there 
17 


386  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

was  somebody ;  but  then  she  must  not ;  and  then  the  remembrance 
that  somebody  was  there  quieted  her  again.  That  thought  stirred 
another  train,  the  old  contrast  between  him  and  herself,  the  con- 
trast between  his  condition  and  hers,  now  brought  more  painfully 
than  ever  home.  "  He  is  ready  to  meet  anything,"  she  thought, 
— "  nothing  can  come  amiss  to  him ; — he  is  as  ready  for  that 
world  as  for  this — and  more  !  " — 

The  impression  of  the  words  he  had  read  that  evening  came 
back  to  her  afresh,  and  the  recollection  of  the  face  with  which 
he  had  read  them, — calm,  happy,  and  at  rest ; — and  Elizabeth 
threw  herself  off  the  sofa  and  kneeled  down  to  lay  her  head  and 
arms  upon  it,  in  mere  agony  of  wish  to  change  something,  or 
rather  of  the  felt  want  that  something  should  be  changed.  0 
that  she  were  at  peace  like  him !  0  that  she  had  like  him  a  sure 
home  and  possession  beyond  the  reach  of  sickness  and  death !  0 
that  she  were  that  rectified,  self-contained,  pure,  strong  spirit, 
that  he  was  ! — The  utmost  of  passionate  wish  was  in  the  tears 
that  wept  out  these  yearnings  of  heart — petitions  they  half  were, — 
for  her  mind  in  giving  them  form,  had  a  half  look  to  the  only 
possible  power  that  could  give  them  fruition.  But  it  was  with 
only  the  refreshment  of  tears  and  exhaustion  that  she  laid  herself 
on  her  couch  and  went  to  sleep. 

Clam  had  carried  away  her  blanket  bed  and  put  out  the  lamps, 
before  Elizabeth  awoke  the  next  morning.  It  was  a  question 
whether  the  room  looked  drearier  by  night  or  by  day.  She  got 
up  and  went  to  the  window.  Clam  had  pulled  up  the  blinds.  The 
light  of  the  summer  morning  was  rising  again,  but  it  shone  only 
without ;  all  was  darkness  inside.  Except  that  light-surrounded 
watcher  up  stairs.     How  Elizabeth's  heart  blessed  him. 

The  next  thing  was,  to  get  ready  to  receive  his  report.  That 
morning's  toilet  was  soon  made,  and  Elizabeth  sat  waiting.  He 
might  come  soon,  or  he  might  not  'f  for  it  was  early,  and  he 
might  not  know  whether  she  was  awake  and  risen  yet.  She  was 
unaccustomed,  poor  child,  to  a  waiting  of  pain  ;  and  her  heart  felt 
tired  and  sore  already  from  the  last  forty-eight  hours  of  fears  and 
hopes.  Fears  and  hopes  were  in  strong  life  now,  but  a  life  that 
had  become  very  tender  to  every  touch.  Clam  was  setting  the 
breakfast-table — Could  breakfast  be  eaten  or  not?  The  very 
cups  and  saucers  made  Elizabeth's  heart  ache.  She  was  glad 
when  Clam  had  done  her  work  and  was  gone  and  she  sat  waiting 
alone.  But  the  breaths  came  painfully  now,  and  her  heart  was 
weary  with  its  own  aching. 

The  little  knock  at  the  door  came  at  last.     Elizabeth  ran  in 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  387 

open  it,  and  exchanged  a  silent  grasp  of  the  hand  with  the  news- 
hearer  ;  her  eyes  looked  her  question.  He  came  in  just  as  he 
came  last  night ;  calm  and  grave. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  new,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  he  said.  "  I 
cannot  see  that  Mr.  Haye  is  any  better — I  do  not  know  that  he 
is  any  worse." 

But  Elizabeth  was  weak  to  bear  longer  suspense ;  she  burst 
into  tears  and  sat  down  hiding  her  face.  Her  companion  stood 
near,  but  said  nothing  further. 

u  May  I  call  Clam  ?  "  he  asked  after  i  few  minutes. 

Elizabeth  gave  eager  assent ;  and  the  act  of  last  night  was 
repeated,  to  her  unspeakable  gratification.  She  drank  in  every 
word,  and  not  only  because  she  drank  in  the  voice  with  them. 

"  Breakfast's  just  ready,  Mr.  Winthrop,"  said  Clam  when  she 
was  leaving  the  room  ; — "  so  you  needn't  go  up  stairs." 

The  breakfast  was  a  very  silent  one  on  Elizabeth's  part. 
Winthrop  talked  on  indifferent  subjects ;  but  she  was  too  full- 
hearted  and  too  sick-hearted  to  answer  him  with  many  words. 
And  when  the  short  meal  was  ended  and  he  was  about  quitting 
the  parlour  she  jumped  up  and  followed  him  a  step  or  two. 

"  Mr.  Winthrop — won't  you  say  a  word  of  comfort  to  me  be- 
fore you  go  ? " 

He  saw  she  needed  it  exceedingly ;  and  came  back  and  sat 
down  on  the  sofa  with  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you  better  than  this,  Miss 
Elizabeth,"  he  said,  turning  over  again  the  leaves  of  his  little 
bible ; — "  I  came  to  it  in  the  course  of  my  reading  this  morning ; 
and  it  comforted  me." 

He  put  the  book  in  her  hands,  but  Elizabeth  had  to  clear 
her  eyes  more  than  once  from  hot  tears,  before  she  could  read 
the  words  to  which,  he  directed  her. 

a  And  there  shall  be  a  tabernacle  for  a  shadow  in  the  day- 
time from  the  heat,  and  for  a  place  of  refuge,  and  for  a  covert 
from  storm  and  from  rain." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  it. 

"  But  I  don't  understand  it,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  "  she  said,  rais- 
ing her  eyes  to  his  face. 

He  said  nothing;  he  took  the  book  from  her  and  turning  a 
few  leaves  over,  put  it  again  in  her  hands.     Elizabeth  read ; — 

"  And  a  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding-place  from  the  wind,  and 
a  covert  from  the  tempest ;  as  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place  ;  as 
the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  thirsty  land." 

"  Is  that  plainer  ?  "  he  asked. 


388  THE   HILLS    OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  It  means  the  Saviour  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Certainly  it  does !    To  whom  else  should  we  go    " 

"  But  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Elizabeth  after  a  minute's  strug- 
gle, "  why  do  you  shew  me  this,  when  you  know  I  can  do  nothing 
with  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  do  nothing  ?  "  he  said. 

The  words  implied  that  she  could ;  an  implication  she  would 
not  deny ;  but  her  answer  was  another  burst  of  tears.  And  with 
the  book  in  her  hand  he  left  her. 

The  words  were  well  studied  that  day  !  by  a  heart  feeling  the 
blast  of  the  tempest  and  bitterly  wanting  to  hide  itself  from  the 
wind.  But  the  fact  of  her  want  and  of  a  sure  remedy,  was  all 
she  made  clear;  how  to  match  the  one  with  the  other  she  did  not 
know.  The  book  itself  she  turned  over  with  the  curiosity  and 
the  interest  of  fresh  insight  into  character.  It  was  well  worn, 
and  had  been  carefully  handled;  it  lay  open  easily  anywhere, 
and  in  many  places  various  marks  of  pencilling  shewed  that  not 
only  the  eyes  but  the  mind  of  its  owner  had  been  all  over  it. 
It  was  almost  an  awful  book  to  Elizabeth's  handling.  It  seemed 
a  thing  too  good  to  be  in  her  hold.  It  bore  witness  to  its 
owner's  truth  of  character,  and  to  her  own  consequent  being 
far  astray ;  it  gave  her  an  opening  such  as  she  never  had  before 
to  look  into  his  mind  and  life  and  guess  at  the  secret  spring  and 
strength  of  them.  Of  many  of  the  marks  of  his  pencil  she  could 
make  nothing  at  all ;  she  could  not  dirine  why  they  had  been 
made,  nor  what  could  possibly  be  the  notable  thing  in  the  passage 
pointed  out ;  and  longing  to  get  at  more  of  his  mind  than  she 
could  in  one  morning's  hurried  work,  she  found  another  bible  in 
the  house  and  took  off  a  number  of  his  notes,  for  future  and 
more  leisurely  study. 

It  was  a  happy  occupation  for  her  that  day.  No  other  could 
have  so  softened  its  exceeding  weariness  and  sadness.  The  doctor 
gave  her  no  comfort.  He  said  he  could  tell  nothing  yet ;  and 
Elizabeth  could  not  fancy  that  this  delay  of  amendment  gave  any 
encouragement  to  hope  for  it.  She  did  not  see  Winthrop  at 
dinner.  She  spent  the  most  of  the  day  over  his  bible.  Sickness 
of  heart  sometimes  made  hsr  throw  it  aside,  but  so  surely  sickness 
of  heart  made  her  take  it  up  again. 

The  thought  of  Winthrop  himself  getting  sick,  did  once  or 
twice  look  in  through  the  window  of  Elizabeth's  mind  ;  but  her 
mind  could  not  take  it  in.  She  had  so  much  already  to  bear, 
that  this  tremendous  possibility  she  could  not  bear  s )  much  ad 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.  389 

to  look  at ;  she  left  it  a  one  side ;  and  it  can  hardly  be  numbered 
among  her  recognized  causes  of  trouble. 

The  day  wore  to  an  end.  The  evening  and  the  sea-breeze 
came  again.  The  lamps  were  lit  and  the  table  dressed  with  the 
salver  and  tea-urn.  And  Elizabeth  was  thankful  the  day  was 
over;  and  waited  impatiently  for  her  friend  to  make  his  ap- 
pearance. 

She  thought  he  looked  thoughtfuller  than  ever  when  he  came. 
That  might  have  been  fancy. 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  as 
he  had  done  in  the  morning,  and  answering  her  face.  "  We  must 
wait  yet. — How  have  you  borne  the  day  ?  " 

"  I  have  borne  it  by  the  help  of  your  book,"  she  said  Poking 
down  at  it  and  trembling. 

"  You  could  have  no  better  help,"  he  said  with  a  little  sigh, 
as  he  turned  away  to  the  table, — "  except  that  of  the  Author 
of  it." 

The  tea  was  very  silent,  for  even  Winthrop  did  not  talk 
much ;  and  very  sad,  for  Elizabeth  could  hardly  hold  her  head  up. 
"  Mr.  Winthrop,"  she  said  when  he  rose, — "  can  you  give  me 
a  minute  or  two  before  you  go  ? — I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 
"  Certainly," — he  said ;  and  waited,  both  standing,  while  she 
opened  his  bible  and  found  the  place  he  had  shewed  her  in  the 
morning.     She  shewed  it  to  him  now. 

«  This — I  don't  quite  understand  it. — I  see  what  is  spoken  of, 
and  the  need  of  it, — but — how  can  I  make  it  my  own  ?  " 

She  looked  up  as  she  put  the  question,  with  most  earnest  eyes, 
and  lips  that  only  extreme  determination  kept  from  giving  way. 
He  looked  at  her,  and  at  his  book. 

"  By  giving  your  trust  to  the  Maker  of  the  promise." 
"How?—" 

"  The  same  unquestioning  faith   and  dependence  that   you 

would  give  to  any  sure  and  undoubted  refuge  of  human  strength." 

Elizabeth  looked  down  and  pressed  her  hands  close  together 

upon  her  breast.     She  knew  so  well  how  to  give  that ! — so  little 

how  to  give  the  other. 

"  Do  you  understand  what  Christ  requires  of  those  who  would 
follow  him?" 

"  No,"  she  said  looking  up  again, — "  not  clearly — hardly 
at  all." 

"  One  is — that  you  give  up  everything,  even  in  thought,  that 
is  contrary  to  his  authority." 

He  was  still,  and  so  was  she,  both  looking  at  each  other. 


390  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  That  is  what  is  meant  by  repentance.  The  other  thing  is, 
—that  you  trust  yourself  for  all  your  wants — from  the  forgiveness 
of  sin,  to  the  supply  of  this  moment's  need, — to  the  strength  and 
love  of  Jesus  Christ ; — and  that  because  he  has  paid  your  price 
and  bought  you  with  his  own  blood." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Elizabeth  slowly,  "  that  his  life  was  given 
in  place  of  mine." 

Winthrop  was  silent.      Elizabeth  stood  apparently  considering. 

"  l  Everything  that  is  contrary  to  his  authority '  " — she  added 
after  a  minute, — "  how  can  I  know  exactly  all  that  ?  " 

He  still  said  nothing,  but  touched  with  his  finger  once  or 
twice  the  book  in  his  hand. 

Elizabeth  looked,  and  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  You  know, — "  she  said,  hesitating  a  little, — "  what  physi- 
cians say  of  involuntary  muscular  resistance,  that  the  physical 
frame  makes  sometimes  ?  " 

He  answered  her  with  an  instant's  light  of  intelligence,  and 
then  with  the  darkened  look  of  sorrow.  But  he  took  his  bible 
away  with  him  and  said  no  more. 

Elizabeth  sat  down  and  struggled  with  herself  and  with  the 
different  passions  which  had  been  at  work  in  her  mind,  till  she 
was  wearied  out ;  and  then  she  slept. 

She  waked  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  find  the  lamps 
burning  bright  and  Clam  asleep  on  the  floor  by  her  side ;  she  her- 
self was  sitting  yet  where  she  had  been  sitting  in  the  evening,  on 
a  low  seat  with  her  head  on  the  sofa  cushion.  She  got  up  and 
with  a  sort  of  new  spring  of  hope  and  cheer,  whence  come  she 
knew  not,  laid  herself  on  the  sofa  and  slept  till  the  morning. 

"  You'd  best  be  up,  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  were  Clam's  first  words. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  springing  up. 

"  It's  time,"  said  her  handmaiden. 

Elizabeth  rose  from  her  sofa  and  put  her  face  and  dress  in 
such  order  as  a  few  minutes  could  do.  She  had  but  come  back 
from  doing  this,  and  was  standing  before  the  table,  when  Win- 
throp came  in.  It  was  much  earlier  than  usual.  Elizabeth 
looked,  but  he  did  not  answer,  the  wonted  question.  He  led  her 
gently  to  the  window  and  placed  himself  opposite  to  her. 

"  You  must  leave  here,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  he  said. 

"  Must  I  ?  " — said  Elizabeth  looking  up  at  him  and  trembling 

"  You  must — "  he  answered  very  gently. 

u  Why,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  "  Elizabeth  dared  to  say. 

"Because  there  is  no  longer  any  reason  why  you  should 
stay  here." 


THE    HILLS     OF    THE     SHATEMTTC.  391 

Slie  trembled  exceedingly,  but  though  her  very  lips  trembled, 
she  did  not  cry.  He  would  have  placed  her  on  a  chair,  but  she 
resisted  that  and  stood  still. 

"  Where  do  you  want  me  to  go,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  "  she  said 
presently,  like  a  childs 

"  I  will  take  you  wherever  you  say — to  some  friend's  house  ?" 

She  caught  at  his  arm  and  her  breath  at  once,  with  a  kind  of 
sob  ;  then  releasing  his  arm,  she  said, 

"  There  isn't  anywhere." 

11  No  house  in  the  city  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  will  let  me,  I  will  take  you  to  a  safe  and  quiet 
place ;  and  as  soon  as  possible  away  from  the  city." 

«  When  ?  " 

"  When  from  here  ? — Now, — as  soon  as  you  can  be  ready." 

Elizabeth's  eye  wandered  vaguely  towards  the  table  like  a 
person  in  a  maze. 

"  Mayn't  I  go  up  stairs  again  ?  "  she  said,  her  eye  coming 
back  to  his. 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not." 

She  gave  way  then  and  sat  down  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands.  And  sobs  as  violent  as  her  tremblings  had  been,  held 
her  for  a  little  while.  The  moment  she  could,  she  rose  up  and 
looked  up  again,  throwing  off  her  tears  as  it  were,  though  a 
sob  now  and  then  even  while  she  was  speaking  interrupted  her 
breath. 

"  But  Mr.  Winthrop — the  house, — how  can  I  go  and  leave  it 
with  everything  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  care,  if  you  will  trust  me  " 
I   will   trust  you,"  she  said   with   running   tears.     "But 


you? 


"  I  will  take  care  of  it  and  you  too. — I  will  try  to." 

"  That  was  not  what  I  meant " 

"  I  am  safe,"  he  said. 

He  gently  seated  her ;  and  then  going  off  to  Clam  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room  he  bade  her  fetch  her  mistress's  bonnet 
and  shawl.  He  himself  put  them  on,  and  taking  her  arm  in  his, 
they  went  forth  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

Tbe  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass; 
Heaven's  light  forever  shines,  Earth's  shadows  flee ; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-  coloured  glass 
Stains  the  clear  radiance-  of  Eternity, 
Until  Death  shiver  it  to  atoms. 

Suelley. 

The  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  was  just  flushing  up  over 
the  city,  when  Winthrop  and  his  trembling  companion  came  out 
of  the  house.  The  flush  came  up  upon  a  fair  blue  sky,  into  which 
little  curls  of  smoke  were  here  and  there  stealing ;  and  a  fresh 
air  in  the  streets  as  yet  held  place  of  the  sun's  hot  breath.  One 
person  felt  the  refreshment  of  it,  as  he  descended  the  steps  of  the 
house  and  began  a  rather  swift  walk  up  the  Parade.  But  those 
were  very  trembling  feet  that  he  had  to  guide  during  that  early 
walk ;  though  his  charge  was  perfectly  quiet.  She  did  not  weep  at 
all;  she  did  not  speak,  nor  question  any  of  his  movements.  Neither 
did  he  speak.  He  kept  a  steady  and  swift  course  till  they  reached 
Mr.  Inchbald's  house  in  Little  South  Street,  and  then  only  paused 
to  open  the  door.  He  led  Elizabeth  up-stairs  to  his  own  room,  and 
there  and  not  before  took  her  hand  from  his  arm  and  placed  her 
on  a  chair.  Himself  quietly  went  round  the  room,  opening  the 
windows  and  altering  the  disposition  of  one  or  two  things.  Then 
he  came  back  to  her  where  she  sat  like  a  statue,  and  in  kind 
fashion  again  took  one  of  her  hands. 

"  I  will  see  that  you  are  waited  upon,"  he  said  gently ;  "  and 
I  will  send  Clam  to  you  by  and  by  for  your  orders.  Will  you 
stay  here  for  a  little  while  ? — and  then  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

How  she  wished  his  words  meant  more  than  she  knew  they 
did.     She  bowed  her  head,  thinking  so. 

"  Can  I  give  you  anything  ?  " 

She  managed  to  say  a  smothered  *  no,'  and  he  went ;  first 
pulling  out  of  his  pocket  his  little  bible  which  he  laid  upon  the 
table. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    6HATEMUC.  393 

Was  that  by  way  of  answering  his  own  question  ?  It  might 
be,  or  he  might  not  have  wanted  it  in  his  pocket.  Whether  or  no, 
Elizabeth  seized  it  and  drew  it  towards  her,  and  as  if  it  had  con- 
tained the  secret  charm  and  panacea  for  all  her  troubles,  she  laid 
her  hands  and  her  head  upon  it,  and  poured  out  there  her  new 
and  her  old  sorrows;  wishing  even  then  that  Winthrop  could 
have  given  her  the  foundation  of  strength  on  which  his  own 
strong  spirit  rested. 

After  a  long  while,  or  what  seemed  such,  she  heard  the 
door  softly  open  and  some  one  come  in.  The  slow  careful  step 
was  none  that  she  knew,  and  Elizabeth  did  not  look  up  till  it 
had  gone  out  and  the  door  had  closed  again.  It  was  Mrs.  Net- 
tley,  and  Mrs.  Nettley  had  softly  left  on  the  table  a  waiter  of 
breakfast.     Elizabeth  looked  at  it,  and  laid  her  head  down  again. 

The  next  interruption  came  an  hour  later  and  was  a  smarter 
one.  Elizabeth  had  wearied  herself  with  weeping,  and  lay  com- 
paratively quiet  on  the  couch. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  said  the  new-comer,  in  more  gentle  wise 
than  it  was  her  fashion  to  look  or  speak, — "  Mr.  Winthrop  said  I 
was  to  come  and  get  your  orders  about  what  you  wanted." 

"  I  can't  give  orders — Do  what  you  like,"  said  Elizabeth 
keeping  her  face  hid. 

"  If  I  knowed  what  'twas," — said  Clam,  sending  her  eye 
round  the  room  for  information  or  suggestion.  "  Mr.  Winthrop 
said  I  was  to  come. — Why  you  haven't  took  no  breakfast  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  any." 

"  You  can't  go  out  o'  town  that  way,"  said  Clam.  "  The 
Governor  desired  you  would  take  some  breakfast,  and  his  orders 
must  be  follered.     You  can't  drink  cold  coffee  neither — " 

And  away  went  Clam,  coffee-pot  in  hand. 

In  so  short  a  space  of  time  that  it  shewed  Clam's  business 
faculties,  she  was  back  again  with  the  coffee  smoking  hot.  She 
made  a  cup  carefully  and  brought  it  to  her  mistress. 

"  You  can't  do  nothin'  without  it,"  said  Clam.  "  Mr.  Win- 
throp would  say,  '  Drink  it '  if  he  was  here — " 

Which  Elizabeth  knew,  and  perhaps  considered  in  swallowing 
the  coffee.  Before  she  had  done,  Clam  stood  at  her  couch  again 
with  a  plate  of  more  substantial  supports. 

"  He  would  say  '  Eat,'  if  he  was  here — "  she  remarked. 

"  Attend  a  little  to  what  I  have  to  say,"  said  her  mistress. 

"  While  you're  eatin',"  said  Clam.  "  I  wasn't  to  stop  to  get 
breakfast." 

A  few  words  of  directions  were  despatched,  and  Clam  was  off 

17* 


394  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

again  ;  and  Elizabeth  lay  still  and  looked  at  the  strange  room  and 
thought  over  the  strange  meaniDg  and  significance  of  her  being 
there.  A  moment's  harbour,  with  a  moment's  friend.  She  was 
shiveringly  alone  in  the  world ;  she  felt  very  much  at  a  loss  what 
to  do,  or  what  would  become  of  her.  She  felt  it,  but  she  could 
not  think  about  it.  Tears  came  again  for  a  long  uninterrupted 
time. 

The  day  had  reached  the  afternoon,  when  Clam  returned,  and 
coming  into  Mrs.  Nettley's  kitchen  inquired  if  her  mistress  had 
had  any  refreshment.  Mrs.  Nettley  declared  that  she  dursn't 
take  it  up  and  that  she  had  waited  for  Clam.  Upon  which  that 
damsel  set  about  getting  ready  a  cup  of  tea,  with  a  sort  of  im- 
patient promptitude. 

"  Have  you  got  all  through  ?  "  Mrs.  Nettley  asked  in  the 
course  of  this  preparation. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Clam. 

"  Your  work." 

"  No,"  said  Clam.  "  Never  expect  to.  My  work  don't  get 
done." 

"  But  has  Mr.  Landholm  got  through  his  work,  down  at  the 
house  ?  " 

" Don't  know,"  said  Clam.  "He  don't  tell  me.  But  if  we 
was  to  work  on,  at  the  rate  we've  been  a  goin'  to-day — we'd  do 
up  all  Mannahatta  in  a  week  or  so." 

"  What's  been  so  much  to  do  ? — the  funeral,  I  know." 

"  The  funeral,"  said  Clam,  "  and  everything  else.  That  was 
only  one  thing.  There  was  everything  to  be  locked  up,  and  every 
thing  to  be  put  up,  and  the  rest  to  be  packed ;  and  the  silver  sent 
off  to  the  Bank;  and  everybody  to  be  seen  to.  I  did  all  I  could, 
•and  Mr.  Winthrop  he  did  the  rest." 

"  He'll  be  worn  out !  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley. 

"  No  he  won't,"  said  Clam.  "  He  ain't  one  o'  them  that  have 
to  try  hard  to  make  things  go — works  like  oiled  'chinery — power- 
ful too,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  What's  going  to  be  done  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley  meditatively. 

"  Can't  say,"  said  Clam.  "  I  wish  my  wishes  was  goin'  to  be 
done — but  I  s'pose  they  ain't.  People's  ain't  mostly,  in  this 
world." 

She  went  off  with  her  dish  of  tea  and  what  not,  to  her  mistress 
up- stairs.     But  Elizabeth  this   time  would  endure  neither  her 

firesence  nor  her  proposal.     Clam  was  obliged  to  go  down  again 
eaving  her  mistress  as  she  had  found  her.     Alone  with  herself. 
Then,  when  the  sun  was  long  past  the  meridian,  Elizabeth 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  395 

heard  upon  the  stair  another  step,  of  the  only  friend,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  that  she  had.  She  raised  her  head  and  listened  to  it. 
The  step  went  past  her  door,  and  into  the  other  room,  and  she 
sat  waiting.  "  How  little  he  knows,"  she  thought,  "  how  much 
of  a  friend  he  is  !  how  little  he  guesses  it.  How  far  he  is  from 
thinking  that  when  he  shall  have  bid  me  good  bye — somewhere — 
he  will  have  taken  away  all  of  help  and  comfort  I  have. — " 

But  clear  and  well  defined  as  this  thought  was  in  her  mind 
at  the  moment,  it  did  not  prevent  her  meeting  her  benefactor  with 
as  much  outward  calmness  as  if  it  had  not  been  there.  Yet  the 
quiet  meeting  of  hands  had  much  that  was  hard  to  bear.  Eliza- 
beth did  not  dare  let  her  thoughts  take  hold  of  it. 

"  Have  you  had  what  you  wanted  ?  "  he  said,  in  the  way  in 
which  one  asks  a  question  of  no  moment  when  important  ones 
are  behind. 

"  I  have  had  all  I  could  have,"  Elizabeth  answered. 

There  was  a  pause ;  and  then  he  asked, 

"  What  are  your  plans,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  formed  any. — I  couldn't,  yet." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  stay  in  the  city,  or  to  go  out  of  it  ?  ' 

"Oh  to  go  out  of  it!  "  said  Elizabeth,— "  if  I  could— if  I 
knew  where." 

"  Where  is  your  cousin?  " 

"  She  was  at  Vantassel ;  but  she  left  it  for  some  friend's  house 
in  the  country,  I  believe.     I  don't  want  to  be  where  she  is." 

Elizabeth's  tears  came  again. 

"  It  seems  very  strange — "  she  said  presently,  trying  to  put 
i  stop  to  them,  but  her  words  stopped. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Winthrop. 

"  It  seems  very  strange, — but  I  hardly  know  where  to  go.  I 
have  no  friends  near — no  near  friends,  in  any  sense ;  there  are 
some,  hundreds  of  miles  off,  in  distance,  and  further  than  that  in 
kind  regard.  I  know  plenty  of  people,  but  I  have  no  friends. — I 
would  go  up  to  Wut-a-qut-o,  if  there  was  anybody  there,"  she 
added  after  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Shahweetah  has  passed  into  other  hands,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Elizabeth; — "  it  passed  into  mine." 

Winthrop  started  a  little,  and  then  after  another  moment's 
pause  said  quietly, 

"  Are  you  serious  in  wishing  to  go  there  now  ?  " 

"  Very  serious  !  "  said  Elizabeth,  "  if  I  had  anybody  to  take 
care  of  me.     I  couldn't  be  there  with  only  Clam  and  Karen." 

"  You  would  find  things  very  rough  and  uncomfortable." 


396  THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  care  about  how  rough?  ''  said  Eliza- 
beth. "  I  would  rather  be  there  than  in  any  other  place  I  can 
think  of." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  would  still  be  much  alone  there — your  own 
household  would  be  all." 

"  I  must  be  that  anywhere,"  said  Elizabeth  bitterly.  "  I  wish 
I  could  be  there." 

"  Then  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  "  said  he  rising. 

"  About  what  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  will  tell  you  if  I  succeed." 

Mr.  Landholm  walked  down  stairs  into  Mrs.  Nettley's  sanctum, 
where  the  good  lady  was  diligently  at  work  in  kitchen  affairs. 

"  Mrs.  Nettley,  will  you  leave  your  brother  and  me  to  keep 
things  together  here,  and  go  into  the  country  with  this  bereaved 
friend  of  mine  ?  " 

Mrs.  Nettley  stood  still  with  her  hands  in  the  dough  cf  her 
bread  and  looked  at  the  maker  of  this  extraordinary  proposition. 

"Into  the  country,  Mr.  Landholm ! — When  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  this  afternoon — in  two  or  three  hours." 

"  Dear  Mr.  Landholm  !— " 

"Dear  Mrs.  Nettley." 

"  But  it's  impossible." 
*   "Is  it?" 

"  Why — What  does  she  want  me  for,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  She  is  alone,  and  without  friends  at  hand.  She  wishes  to 
leave  the  city  and  take  refuge  in  her  own  house  in  the  country, 
but  it  is  uninhabited  except  by  servants.  She  does  not  know  of 
my  application  to  you,  which  I  make  believing  it  to  be  a  case 
of  charity." 

Mrs.  Nettley  began  to  knead  her  dough  with  a  haste  and 
vigour  which  told  of  other  matters  on  hand. 

"  Will  you  go,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Certainly — to  see  you  safe  there — and  then  I  will  come 
back  and  take  care  of  Mr.  Inchbald." 

"How  far  is  it,  sir?" 

"  So  far  as  my  old  home,  which  Miss  Haye  has  bought." 

"  What,  Wut that  place  of  yours  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley. 

"  Yes,"  Winthrop  said  gravely. 

"  And  how  long  shall  I  be  wanted,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mrs.  Nettley." 

Mrs.  Nettley  hastily  cut  her  dough  into  loaves  and  threw  it 
into  the  pans. 

"  You  are  going,  Mrs.  Nettley  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  397 

"  Why  sir — in  two  hours,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  in  so  little  as  that — I  am  going  to  see." 

"  But  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  the  good  lady,  facing  round  upon 
him  after  bestowing  her  pans  in  their  place,  and  looking  some- 
what concerned, — "  Mr.  Landholm,  do  you  think  she  will  like 
me?— MissHaye?" 

Winthrop  smiled  a  little. 

"  I  think  she  will  be  very  thankful  to  you,  Mrs.  Nettley — I 
can  answer  no  further." 

"  I  suppose  it's  right  to  risk  that,"  Mrs.  Nettley  concluded. 
"  I'll  do  what  you  say,  Mr.  Landholm." 

Without  more  words  Mr.  Landholm  went  out  and  left  the 
house. 

"  Are  Miss  Haye's  things  all  ready  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Nettley  of 
Clam,  while  she  nervously  untied  her  apron. 

"  All's  ready  that  he  has  to  do  with,"  Clam  answered  a  little 
curtly. 

"  But  has  he  to  do  with  your  mistress's  things." 

"  He  has  to  do  with  everything,  just  now,"  said  Clam.  "  I 
wish  the  now  'd  last  for  ever !  " 

"  How  can  we  go  to-night  ? — the  boats  and  the  stages  and  all 
don't  set  off  so  late." 

"  Boats  don't  stop  near  Wutsey  Qutsey,"  said  Clam. 

Mrs.  Nettley  went  off  to  make  her  own  preparations. 

When  Mr.# Landholm  came  again,  after  an  interval  of  some 
length,  he  came  with  a  carriage. 

"  Are  you  ready,  Mrs.  Nettley  ?  "  he  said  looking  into  that 
lady's  quarters. 

"  In  a  little  bit,  Mr.  Landholm !— " 

Whereupon  he  went  up-stairs. 

"  If  you  wish  to  go  to  Wut-a-qut-o,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  he  said, 
"  my  friend  Mrs.  Nettley  will  go  with  you  and  stay  with  you,  till 
you  have  made  other  arrangements.  I  can  answer  for  her  kind- 
ness of  heart,  and  unobtrusive  manners,  and  good  sense.  Would 
you  like  her  for  a  companion  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  anybody — that  you  can  recommend." 

**  My  friend  Cowslip's  little  sloop  sets  sail  for  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Wut-a-qut-o  this  evening." 

"  Oh  thank  you  !— Will  she  take  us  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  it." 

"  Oh  thank  you  ! " 

"  Would  you  not  be  better  to  wait  till  to-morrow  ? — I  can 
make  the  sloop  wait." 


398  THE   HILLS    OF   THE   SHATEMTTC. 

"  Oh  no,  let  us  go,"  said  Elizabeth  rising.  *  But  your  friend 
is  very  good — your  friend  who  is  going  with  me,  I  mean." 

"  Mrs.  Nettley.  But  you  need  not  move  yet — rest  while 
you  can." 

"  Rest !  " — said  Elizabeth.  And  tears  said  what  words  did 
not. 

"  There  is  only  one  rest,"  said  Winthrop  gravely ;  "  and  it  is 
in  Christ's  hand.  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  i  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

Elizabeth's  sobs  were  bitter.  Her  counsellor  added  no  more 
however ;  he  left  the  room  after  a  little  while,  and  soon  returned 
to  tell  her  that  all  was  ready.     She  was  ready  too  by  that  time. 

"  But  Mr.  Winthrop,"  she  said  looking  at  him  earnestly,  "  is 
everything  here  so  that  you  can  leave  it  ?  " 

She  dared  not  put  the  whole  of  her  meaning  into  words.  But 
Winthrop  understood,  and  answered  a  quiet  "  yes  ;  "  and  Eliza- 
beth lowered  her  veil  and  her  head  together  and  let  him  lead  her 
to  the  carriage. 

A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  the  pier  at  the  end  of  which 
the  Julia  Ann  lay. 

"  You're  sharp  upon  the  time,  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  her 
master ; — "  we're  just  goin'  to  cast  off.  But  we  shouldn't  have 
done  it,  nother,  till  you  come.     All  right !  " 

"  Is  all  right  in  the  cabin  ?  "  said  Winthrop  as  they  came 
on  board. 

u  Well  it's  slicked  up  all  it  could  be  on  such  short  notice," 
said  the  skipper.  "  I  guess  you  wont  have  to  live  in  it  long ; 
the  wind's  coming  up  pretty  smart  ahind  us.  Haul  away 
there !— " 

It  was  past  six  o'clock,  and  the  August  sun  had  much  lessened 
of  its  heat,  when,  as  once  before  with  Mr.  Landholm  for  a  passen- 
ger, the  Julia  Ann  stood  out  into  the  middle  of  the  river  with 
her  head  set  for  the  North. 

Mrs.  Nettley  and  Clam  hid  themselves  straightway  in  the 
precincts  of  the  cabin.  Elizabeth  stood  still  where  she  had  first 
placed  herself  on  the  deck,  in  a  cold  abstracted  sort  of  careless- 
ness, conscious  only  that  her  protector  was  standing  by  her  side, 
and  that  she  was  not  willing  to  lose  sight  of  him.  The  vessel, 
and  her  crew,  and  their  work  before  her  very  eyes,  she  could 
hardly  be  said  to  see.  The  sloop  got  clear  of  the  wharf  and 
edged  out  into  the  mid-channel,  where  she  stood  bravely  along 
before  the  fair  wind.  Slowly  the  trees  and  houses  along  shore 
were  dropped  behind,  and  fresher  the  wind  and  fairer  the  green 


THE   HILLS    OF   THE    SHATEMUO  399 

river-side  seemed  to  become.     Elizabeth's  senses  hardly  knew  it, 
or  only  in  a  kind  of  underhand  way ;  not  recognized. 

"  Will  you  go  into  the  cabin  ?  or  will  you  have  a  seat  here  ?  * 
she  heard  Winthrop  say. 

Mechanically  she  looked  about  for  one.  He  brought  a  chair 
and  placed  her  in  it,  and  she  sat  down ;  choosing  rather  the  open 
air  and  free  sky  than  any  shut-up  place,  and  his  neighbourhood 
rather  than  where  he  was  not ;  but  with  a  dulled  and  impassive 
state  of  feeling  that  refused  to  take  up  anything,  past,  present  or 
future.  It  was  not  rest,  it  was  not  relief,  though  there  was  a 
seeming  of  rest  about  it.  She  knew  then  it  would  not  last.  It 
was  only  a  little  lull  between  storms;  the  enforced  quiet  oi 
wearied  and  worn-out  powers.  She  sat  mazily  taking  in  the  sun- 
light, and  the  view  of  the  sunlighted  earth  and  water,  the  breath 
of  the  sweeping  fresh  air,  the  creaking  of  the  sloop's  cordage,  in 
the  one  consciousness  that  Winthrop  kept  his  place  at  her  side  all 
this  time.  How  she  thanked  him  for  that !  though  die  could 
not  ask  him  to  sit  down,  nor  make  any  sort  of  a  speech  about  it. 

Down  went  the  sun,  and  the  shadows  and  the  sunlight  were 
swept  away  together ;  and  yet  fresher  came  the  sweet  wind.  It 
was  a  sort  of  consolation  to  Elizabeth,  that  her  distress  gave 
Winthrop  a  right  and  a  reason  to  attend  upon  her ;  she  had  had 
all  along  a  vague  feeling  of  it,  and  the  feeling  was  very  present 
now.  It  was  all  of  comfort  she  could  lay  hold  of;  and  she 
clutched  at  it  with  even  then  a  foreboding  sense  of  the  desolation 
there  would  be  when  that  comfort  was  gone.  She  had  it  now ; 
she  had  it,  and  she  held  it ;  and  she  sat  there  in  her  chair  on  the 
deck  in  a  curious  half  stupor,  half  quiet,  her  mind  clinging  to  that 
one  single  point  where  it  could  lean. 

There  came  a  break-up  however.  Supper  was  declared  to  be 
ready  ;  and  though  nobody  but  Winthrop  attended  the  skipper's 
table,  Elizabeth  was  obliged  to  take  some  refreshments  of  her 
own,  along  with  a  cup  of  the  sloop's  tea,  which  most  certainly  she 
would  have  taken  from  no  hand  but  the  one  that  presented  it  to 
her.  And  after  it,  Elizabeth  was  so  strongly  advised  to  go  to  the 
cabin  and  take  some  rest,  that  she  could  not  help  going ;  resting, 
she  had  no  thought  of.  Her  companions  were  of  easier  mind ; 
for  they  soon  addressed  themselves  to  such  sleeping  conveniencies 
as  the  little  cabin  could  boast.  Miss  Haye  watched  them  begin 
and  end  their  preparations  and  bestow  themselves  in  resting 
positions  to  sleep ;  and  then  drawing  a  breath  of  comparative 
rest  herself,  she  placed  herself  just  within  the  cabin  threshold,  on 


400  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

the  floor,  where  she  could  look  out  and  have  a  good  view  of  the 
deck  through  the  partly  open  door. 

It  was  this  night  as  on  the  former  occasion,  a  brilliant  moon- 
light ;  and  the  vessel  had  no  lamps  up  to  hinder  its  power.  The 
mast  and  sails  and  lines  stood  out  in  sharp  light  and  shadow.  The 
man  at  the  helm  Elizabeth  could  not  see ;  the  moonlight  poured 
down  upon  Winthrop,  walking  slowly  back  and  forth  on  the  deck, 
his  face  and  figure  at  every  turn  given  fully  and  clearly  to  view. 
Elizabeth  herself  was  in  shadow ;  he  could  not  look  within  the 
cabin  door  and  see  her ;  she  could  look  out  and  see  him  right 
well,  and  she  did.  He  was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down,  with  a 
thoughtful  face,  but  so  calm  in  its  thoughtfulness  that  it  was  a 
grievous  contrast  to  Elizabeth's  own  troubled  and  tossed  nature. 
It  was  all  the  more  fascinating  to  her  gaze ;  while  it  was  bitter  to 
her  admiration.  The  firm  quiet  tread, — the  manly  grave  repose 
of  the  face, — spoke  of  somewhat  in  the  character  and  life  so  un- 
like what  she  knew  in  her  own,  and  so  beautiful  to  her  sense  of 
just  and  right,  that  she  looked  in  a  maze  of  admiration  and  self- 
condemning  ;  ratiDg  herself  lower  and  lower  and  Winthrop  higher 
and  higher,  at  every  fair  view  the  moonlight  gave,  at  every  turn 
that  brought  him  near  or  took  him  further  from  her.  And  tears 
— curious  tears — that  came  from  some  very  deep  wells  of  her 
nature,  blinded  her  eyes,  and  rolled  hot  down  her  cheeks,  and 
were  wiped  away  that  she  might  look.  "  What  shall  I  do  when 
he  gets  tired  of  that  walk  and  goes  somewhere  else  ?  " — she 
thought ;  and  with  the  thought,  as  instantly,  Elizabeth  gathered 
herself  up  from  off  the  floor,  wiped  her  cheeks  from  the  tears, 
and  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight.  "  I  can't  say  anything, 
but  I  suppose  he  will,"  was  her  meditation.  "  Nobody  knows 
when  I  shall  have  another  chance." — 

"They  could  not  make  it  comfortable  for  you  in  there?" 
said  Winthrop  coming  up  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know — yes, — I  have  not  tried." 

"  Are  you  very  much  fatigued  ?  " 

11 1  suppose  so. — I  don't  feel  it." 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

The  real  answer  nearly  burst  Elizabeth's  bounds  of  self-con- 
trol, but  nevertheless  her  words  were  quietly  given. 

"  Yes, — if  you  will  only  let  me  stay  out  here  a  little  while." 

He  put  a  chair  for  her  instantly,  and  himself  remained  stand- 
ing near,  as  he  had  done  before. 

"  Walk  on,  if  you  wish,"  said  Elizabeth.     "  Don't  mind  me.' 

But  instead  of  that  he  drew  up  another  chair,  and  sat  down. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  401 

There  was  silence  then  that  might  he  felt.  The  moonlight 
ptrared  down  noiselessly  on  the  water,  and  over  the  low  dusky  dis- 
tant shore ;  the  ripples  murmured  under  the  sloop's  prow ;  the 
wind  breathed  gently  through  the  sails.  Now  and  then  the  creak 
of  the  rudder  sounded,  hut  the  very  stars  were  not  more  calmly 
peaceful  than  everything  else. 

"  There  is  quiet  and  soothing  in  the  speech  of  such  a  scene  as 
this,"  Winthrop  said  after  a  time. 

"  Quiet !  "  said  Elizabeth.  Her  voice  choked,  and  it  was  a 
little  while  before  she  could  go  on. — "  Nothing  is  quiet  to  a  mind 
in  utter  confusion." 

"  Is  yours  so  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  sobs  were  at  her  very  lips,  but  the  word  got  out  first. 

"  It  is  no  wonder,"  he  observed  gently. 

"  Yes  it  is  wonder,"  said  Elizabeth; — a  or  at  least  it  is  what 
needn't  be.     Yours  wouldn't  be  so  in  any  circumstances." 

"  What  makes  the  confusion  ?  " — he  asked,  in  a  gentle  con- 
siderate tone  that  did  not  press  for  an  answer. 

"  The  want  of  a  single  fixed  thing  that  my  thoughts  can 
cling  to." 

He  was  silent  a  good  while  after  that. 

"  There  is  nothing  fixed  in  this  world,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Yes  there  is,"  said  Elizabeth  bitterly.  "  There  are  friends 
—and  there  is  a  self-reliant  spirit — and  there  is  a  settled  mind." 

"  Settled— about  what  ?  " 

"  What  it  will  and  what  it  ought  to  do." 

"  Is  yours  not  settled  on  the  latter  point  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  it  were,"  said  Elizabeth  with  a  little  hesitation  and  strug- 
gling,— "  that  don't  make  it  settled." 

11  It  shews  where  the  settling  point  is." 

"  Which  leaves  it  as  far  as  ever  from  being  settled,"  said  Eliza 
beth,  almost  impatiently. 

"  A  self-reliant  spirit,  if  it  be  not  poised  on  another  founda- 
tion than  its  own,  hath  no  fixedness  that  is  worth  anything,  Miss 
Elizabeth; — and  friends  are  not  safe  things  to  trust  to." 

"  Some  of  them  are,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  No,  for  they  are  not  sure.  There  is  but  one  friend  that 
cannot  be  taken  away  from  us." 

"  But  to  know  that,  and  to  know  everything  else  about  him, 
does  not  make  him  our  friend,"  said  Elizabeth  in  a  voice  that 
trembled. 

"  To  agree  to  everything  about  him,  docs." 


402  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  To  agree  ? — How  ? — I  do  agree  to  it,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Do  you  ?  Are  you  willing  to  have  him  for  a  King  to  reign 
over  you  ? — as  well  as  a  Saviour  to  make  you  and  keep  you  safe  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  You  do  not  know  everything  about  him,  neither." 

"  What  don't  I  know  ?  " 

"  Almost  all.  You  cannot,  till  you  begin  to  obey  him  ;  for 
till  then  he  will  not  shew  himself  to  you.  The  epitome  of  all 
beauty  is  in  those  two  words — Jesus  Christ. 

She  made  no  answer  yet,  with  her  head  bowed,  and  striving 
to  check  the  straining  sobs  with  which  her  breast  was  heaving. 
She  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  looking  on  compassionately ;  but  it 
was  a  good  while  before  she  could  restrain  herself  into  calmness ; 
and  during  that  time  he  added  nothing  more.  "When  she  could 
look  up,  she  found  he  was  not  looking  at  her;  his  eyes  were 
turned  upon  the  river,  where  the  moon  made  a  broad  and  broad- 
ening streak  of  wavy  brightness.  But  Elizabeth  looked  at  the 
quiet  of  his  brow,  and  it  smote  her ;  though  there  was  now  some- 
what of  thoughtful  care  upon  the  face.  The  tears  that  she  thought 
she  had  driven  back,  rushed  fresh  to  her  eyes  again. 

"  Do  you  believe  what  I  last  said,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  "  he  said 
turning  round  to  her. 

"  About  the  epitome  of  all  beauty  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  You  say  so — I  don't  understand  it,"  she  said  sadly  and 
somewhat  perplexed. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  he  answered,  looking  round  to  the  moon- 
light again. 

"  But  Mr.  Landholm,"  said  Elizabeth  in  evident  distress, 
u  won't  you  tell  me  something  more  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Oh  yes  you  can, — a  great  deal  more,"  she  said  weeping. 

"  I  could,"  he  sai^  gravely, — "  yet  I  should  tell  you  nothing 
— you  would  not  understand  me.  You  must  find  it  out  for 
yourself." 

"  How  in  the  world  can  I  V  " 

"  There  is  a  promise, — c  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall 
know  of  the  doctrine.'  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,  nor  anything  about  it,"  said 
Elizabeth,  weeping  still. 

"  Begin  anywhere." 

"  How  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Open  the  Bible  at  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew,  and  read* 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC,  403 

Ask  honestly,  of  your  own  conscience  and  of  God,  at  each  step, 
what  obligation  upon  you  grows  out  of  what  you  are  reading.  If 
you  follow  his  leading  he  will  lead  you  on, — to  himself." 

Elizabeth  sobbed  in  silence  for  some  little  time ;  then  she  said, 

"  I  will  do  it,  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  If  you  do,"  said  he,  "  you  will  find  you  can  do  nothing." 

"  Nothing !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  You  will  find  you  are  dependent  upon  the  good  pleasure  of 
God  for  power  to  take  the  smallest  step." 

"  His  good  pleasure ! — Suppose  it  should  not  be  given  me." 
,  "  There  is  no  '  suppose  '  about  that,"  Winthrop  answered,  with 
a  slight  smile,  which  seen  as  it  was  through  a  veil  of  tears,  Eliza- 
beth never  forgot,  and  to  which  she  often  looked  back  in  after 
time  ; — "  'Whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely.' 
But  he  does  not  always  get  a  draught  at  the  first  asking.  The 
water  of  life  was  not  bought  so  cheap  as  that.  However,  '  to 
him  that  knocketh,  it  shall  be  opened.'  " 

Elizabeth  hearkened  to  him,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  yield- 
ing and  rebellion  at  once  in  her  mind.  She  felt  them  both 
there.  But  the  rebellion  was  against  the  words ;  her  yielding 
was  for  the  voice  that  brought  the  words  to  her  ear.  She  paused 
awhile. 

"  At  that  rate,  people  might  be  discouraged  before  they  got 
what  they  wanted,"  she  observed,  when  the  silence  had  lasted 
some  little  time. 

"  They  might,"  said  Winthrop  quietly. 

"  I  should  think  many  might." 

"  Many  have  been,"  he  answered. 

"  What  then  ?  "  she  asked  a  little  abruptly. 

"  They  did  not  get  what  they  wanted." 

Elizabeth  started  a  little,  and  shivered,  and  tears  began  to 
come  again. 

"  What's  to  hinder  their  being  discouraged,  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 
she  asked  in  a  tone  that  was  a  little  querulous. 

"  Believing  God's  word." 

So  sweet  the  words  came,  her  tears  ceased  at  that ;  the  power 
of  the  truth  sank  for  a  moment  with  calming  effect  upon  her  re- 
bellious feeling ;  but  with  this  came  also  as  truly  the  thought, 
u  You  have  a  marvellous  beautiful  way  of  saying  things  quietly !  " 
—However  for  the  time  her  objections  were  silenced ;  and  she 
sat  still,  looking  out  upon  the  water,  and  thinking  that  with 
the  first  quiet  opportunity  she  would  begin  the  first  chapter 
of  Matthew. 


404:  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

For  a  little  while  they  both  were  motionless  and  silent;  and 
then  rising,  Winthrop  began  his  walk  up  and  down  the  deck  again. 
Elizabeth  was  left  to  her  meditations;  which  sometimes  roved 
hither  and  thither,  and  sometimes  concentred  themselves  upon 
the  beat  of  his  feet,  which  indeed  formed  a  sort  of  background  of 
cadence  to  them  all.  It  was  such  a  soothing  reminder  of  one 
strong  and  sure  stay  that  she  might  for  the  present  lean  upon ; 
and  the  knowledge  that  she  might  soon  lose  it,  made  the  reminder 
only  the  more  precious.  She  was  weeping  most  bitter  tears  during 
some  of  that  time ;  but  those  footsteps  behind  her  were  like  quiet 
music  through  all.  She  listened  to  them  sometimes,  and  felt 
them  always,  with  a  secret  gratification  of  knowing  they  would 
not  quit  the  deck  till  she  did.  Then  she  had  some  qualms  about 
his  getting  tired ;  and  then  she  said  to  herself  that  she  could  not 
put  a  stop  to  what  was  so  much  to  her  and  which  she  was  not  to 
have  again.  So  she  sat  and  listened  to  them,  weary  and  half  be- 
wildered with  the  changes  and  pain  of  the  last  few  days  and  hours  ; 
hardly  recognizing  the  reality  of  her  own  situation,  or  that  the 
sloop,  Winthrop's  walk  behind  her,  the  moonlight,  her  lonely  seat 
on  the  deck,  and  her  truly  lonely  place  in  the  world,  were  not  all 
parts  of  a  curious  phantasm.  Or  if  realizing  them,  with  senses  so 
tried  and  blunted  with  recent  wear  and  tear,  that  they  refused  to 
act  and  left  her  to  realize  it  quietly  and  almost  it  seemed  stupidly. 
She  called  it  so  to  herself,  but  she  could  not  help  it ;  and  she  was 
in  a  manner  thankful  for  that.  She  would  wake  up  again.  She 
would  have  liked  to  sit  there  all  night  under  that  moonlight  and 
with  the  regular  fall  of  Winthrop's  step  to  and  fro  on  the  vessel. 

"  How  long  can  you  stand  this  ?  "  said  he,  pausing  beside  her. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  looking  up. 

"  How  long  can  you  do  without  resting  ?  " 

"lam  resting. — I  couldn't  rest  so  well  anywhere  else." 

"  Couldn't  you  ?  " 

"  No  ! — "  she  said  earnestly. 

He  turned  away  and  went  on  walking.  Elizabeth  blessed 
him  for  it. 

The  moon  shone,  and  the  wind  blew,  and  steadily  the  vessel 
sailed  on ;  till  higher  grounds  began  to  rise  on  either  side  of  her, 
and  hills  stood  back  of  hills,  ambitious  of  each  other's  standing, 
and  threw  their  deep  shadows  all  along  the  margin  of  the  river. 
As  the  sloop  entered  between  these  narrowing  and  lifting  walls 
of  the  river  channel,  the  draught  of  air  became  gentler,  often 
hindered  by  some  outstanding  high  point  she  had  left  behind ; 
more  slowly  she  made  her  way  past  hill  and  hill-embayed  curves 


THE     HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  405 

of  the  river,  less  stoutly  her  sails  were  filled,  more  gently 
her  prow  rippled  over  the  smoother  water.  Sometimes  she  passed 
within  the  shadow  of  a  lofty  hill-side ;  and  then  slipped  out  again 
into  the  clear  fair  sparkling  water  where  the  moon  shone. 

"  Are  we  near  there  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  suddenly,  turning  her 
head  to  arrest  her  walking  companion.  He  came  to  the  back  of 
the  chair. 

"  Near  Wut-a-qut-o  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  No.     Nearing  it,  but  not  :tear  it  yet.' 

"  How  soon  shall  we  be  ?  " 

"  If  the  wind  holds,  I  should  think  in  two  hours." 

"  Where  do  wo  stop  ?  " 

"  At  the  sloop's  quarters — the  old  mill — about  two  railes  down 
the  river  from  Shahweetah." 

"  Why  wouldn't  she  carry  us  straight  up  to  the  place  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  inconvenient  landing  there,  and  would  very 
much  delay  the  sloop's  getting  to  her  moorings." 

"  I'll  pay  for  that !—  " 

"  We  can  get  home  as  well  in  another  way." 

"  But  then  we  shall  have  to  stay  here  all  night." 

"Here,  on  the  sloop,  you  mean?  The  night  is  far  gone 
already." 

"  Not  half !  "  said  Elizabeth.    "  It's  only  a  little  past  twelve." 

"  Aren't  you  tired  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  but  I  don't  feel  it." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  take  some  sleep  before  morning  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't.  But  you  needn't  walk  there  to  take  care  of 
me,  Mr.  Winthrop.     I  shall  be  quite  safe  alone." 

"  No,  you  will  not,"  he  said  ;  and  going  to  some  of  the  sloop's 
receptacles,  he  drew  out  an  old  sail  and  laying  it  on  the  deck  by 
her  side  he  placed  himself  upon  it,  in  a  half  sitting,  half  reclining 
posture,  which  told  of  some  need  of  rest  on  his  part. 

"  You  are  tired,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  Please  don't  stay  here 
for  me ! " 

"  It  pleases  me  to  stay,"  he  said  lightly.  "  It  is  no  hardship, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  to  pass  such  a  night  as  this  out  of 
doors." 

"  What  is  it  in  these  circumstances  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  quickly. 

"Not  a  hardship." 

"  You  don't  say  much  more  than  you  are  obliged  to,"  thought 
Elizabeth  bitterly.     "  It  is  '  not  a  hardship  '  to  stay  there  to  take 


406  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHC. 

care  of  me ; — and  there  is  not  in  the  world  another  person  left  to 
me  who  could  say  even  as  much." — 

"  There  is  a  silent  peace -speaking  in  such  a  scene  as  this/' 
presently  said  Winthrop,  lying  on  his  sail  and  looking  at  the  river. 

"  I  dare  say  there  is,"  Elizabeth  answered  sadly. 

"  You  cannot  feel  it,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Not  a  particle.     I  can  just  see  that  it  might  be." 

"  The  Bible  makes  such  constant  use  of  natural  imagery,  that 
to  one  familiar  with  it,  the  objects  of  nature  bring  back  as  con- 
stantly its  teachings — its  warnings — its  consolations." 

"  What  now  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Many  things.  Look  at  those  deep  and  overlapping  shadows. 
(  As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem,  ao  the  Lord  is 
round  about  his  people,  from  henceforth  " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Winthrop  !  "  Elizabeth  exclaimed; — "  Stop  !  I 
can't  bear  it." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  can't  bear  it,"  she  repeated,  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  he  again  in  the  same  tone,  when  a  minute  had 
gone  by. 

"  Those  words  don't  belong  to  me — I've  nothing  to  do  with 
fhem,"  she  said,  raising  her  head  and  dashing  her  tears  right  and 
left. 

But  Winthrop  made  no  sort  of  answer  to  that,  and  a  dead 
silence  fell  between  the  parties.  Again  the  prow  of  the  sloop  was 
heard  rippling  against  the  waves ;  and  slowly  she  glided  past 
mountain  and  shadow,  and  other  hills  rose  and  other  deep  shadows 
lay  before  them.  Elizabeth,  between  other  thoughts,  was  tempted 
to  think  that  her  companion  was  as  impassive  and  cold  as  the 
moonlight,  and  as  moveless  as  the  dark  mountain  lines  that 
stood  against  the  sky.  And  yet  she  knew  and  trusted  him 
better  than  that.  It  was  but  the  working  of  passing  impatience 
and  bitter  feeling ;  it  was  only  the  chafing  of  passion  against  what 
seemed  so  self-contained  and  so  calm.  And  yet  that  very  self- 
continence  and  calmness  was  what  passion  liked,  and  what  passion 
involuntarily  bent  down  before. 

She  had  not  got  over  yet  the  stunned  effect  of  the  past  days 
and  nights.  She  sat  feeling  coldly  miserable  and  forlorn  and 
solitary ;  conscious  that  one  interest  was  living  at  her  heart  yet, 
but  also  conscious  that  it  was  to  live  and  die  by  its  own  strength 
as  it  might ;  and  that  in  all  the  world  she  had  nothing  else ;  no, 
nor  never  should  have  anything  else.  She  could  not  have  a  father 
again ;  and  even  he  had  been  nothing  for  the  companionship  of 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  407 

bucIi  a  spirit  as  hers,  not  what  she  wanted  to  make  her  either 
good  or  happy.  But  little  as  he  had  done  of  late  to  make  her 
either,  the  name,  and  even  the  nominal  guardianship,  and  what 
the  old  childish  affection  had  clung  to,  were  gone — and  never 
could  come  back;  and  Elizabeth  wept  sometimes  with  a  very 
bowed  head  and  heart,  and  sometimes  sat  stiff  and  quiet,  gazing 
at  the  varying  mountain  outline,  and  the  fathomless  shadows  that 
repeated  it  upon  the  water. 

The  night  drew  on,  as  the  hills  closed  in  more  and  more  upon 
the  narrowing  river  channel,  and  the  mountain  heads  lifted 
themselves  more  high,  and  the  shadows  spread  out  broader  upon 
the  river.  Every  light  along  shore  had  long  been  out;  but  now 
one  glimmered  down  at  them  faintly  from  under  a  high  thick 
wooded  bluff,  on  the  east  shore ;  and  the  Julia  Ann  as  she  came 
up  towards  it,  edged  down  a  little  constantly  to  that  side  of  the 
river. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  presently.  "  We're 
getting  out  of  the  channel." 

But  she  saw  immediately  that  Winthrop  was  asleep.  It  made 
her  feel  more  utterly  alone  and  forlorn  than  she  had  done  before. 
With  a  sort  of  additional  chill  at  her  heart,  she  looked  round  for 
some  one  else  of  whom  to  ask  her  question,  and  saw  the  skipper 
just  com?  on  deck.     Elizabeth  got  up  to  speak  to  him. 

M  Aren  t  we  getting  out  of  our  course  ?  " 

«  Eg-zackly,"  said  Mr.  Hildebrand.  "  'Most  out  of  it.  That 
light's  the  Mill,  marm." 

"The  Mill!  Cowslip's  Mill  ?  " 

"  Well  it's  called  along  o'  my  father,  'cause  he's  lived  there,  I 
s'pose, — and  made  it, — and  owns  to  it,  too,  as  far  as  that  goes ; — 
I  s'pose  it's  as  good  a  right  to  have  his  name  as  any  one's." 

Elizabeth  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  light,. which  now  had  a 
particularly  cheerless  and  hopeless  look  for  her.  It  was  the 
token  of  somebody's  home,  shining  upon  one  who  had  none ;  it 
was  a  signal  of  the  near  ending  of*  a  guardianship  and  society 
which  for  the  moment  had  taken  home's  place  ;  a  reminder  that 
presently  she  must  be  thrown  upon  her  own  guidance ;  left  to 
take  care  of  herself  alone  in  the  world,  as  best  she  might.  The 
journey,  with  all  its  pain,  had  been  a  sort  of  little  set-off  from 
the  rest  of  her  life,  where  the  contrasts  of  the  past  and  the  future 
did  not  meet.  They  were  coming  back  now.  She  felt  their 
shadows  lying  cold  upon  her.  It  was  one  of  the  times  in  her  life 
of  greatest  desolation,  the  while  the  sloop  was  drawing  down  to 
her  berth  under  the  home  light,  and  making  fast  in  her  moorings. 


408  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  * 

The  moon  was  riding  high,  and  dimly  shewed  Elizabeth  the  but 
half-remembered  points  and  ontlines ; — and  there  was  a  contrast ! 
She  did  not  cry ;  she  looked,  with  a  cold  chilled  feeling  of  eye 
and  mind  that  would  have  been  almost  despair,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  one  friend  asleep  at  her  side.  And  he  was  nothing  to  her. 
Nothing.  He  was  nothing  to  her.  Elizabeth  said  it  to  herself ; 
but  for  all  that  he  was  there,  and  it  was  a  comfort  to  see  him 
there. 

The  sails  rattled  down  to  the  deck ;  and  with  wind  and  head 
way  the  sloop  gently  swung  up  to  her  appointed  place.  Another 
light  came  out  of  the  house,  in  a  lantern ;  and  another  hand  od 
shore  aided  the  sloop's  crew  in  making  her  fast. 

"  How  can  he  sleep  through  it  all !  "  thought  Elizabeth.  "  I 
wonder  if  anything  ever  could  shake  him  out  of  his  settled  com- 
posure— asleep  or  awake,  it's  all  the  same." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  ashore  ?  "  said  the  skipper  at  her  side. 

"  No — not  now." 

"  They'll  slick  up  a  better  place  for  you  than  we  could  fix  up 
in  this  here  little  hulk.  Though  she  ain't  a  small  sloop  neither, 
by  no  means." 

"  What  have  you  got  aboard  there,  Hild'  ? "  called  out  a 
voice  that  came  from  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  lan- 
tern.    "  Gals  ?  " 

"  Governor  Landholm  and  some  company,"  said  the  skipper 
in  a  more  moderate  tone.  The  other  voice  took  no  hint  of  mod- 
eration. 

"  Governor  Landholm  ? — is  he  along  ?  Well — glad  to  see 
him.     Run  from  the  yallow  fever,  eh  ?  " 

"  Is  mother  up,  father  ?  " 

«  Up  ?— no  !— What  on  arth  !  " 

"  Tell  her  to  get  up,  and  make  some  beds  for  folks  that 
couldn't  sleep  aboard  sloop;  and  have  been  navigatin'  all  night." 

"  Go,  and  I'll  look  after  the  sloop  till  morning,  Captain,"  said 
Winthrop  sitting  up  on  his  sail. 

"  Won't  you  come  ashore  and  be  comfortable  ?  "  said  father 
and  son  at  once. 

"  I  am  comfortable." 

"  But  you'll  be  better  off  there,  Governor." 

"  Don't  think  I  could,  Hild'.     I'm  bound  to  stay  by  the  ship." 

"  Won't  you  come,  Miss  ?  "  said  the  skipper  addressing  Eliza- 
beth.    "  You'll  be  better  ashore." 

"  Oh  yes — come  along — all  of  you,"  said  the  old  sloop-mas- 
ter on  the  land. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  409 

"  I'm  in  charge  of  the  passengers,  Captain,"  said  Winthrop ; 
"  and  I  don't  think  it  is  safe  for  any  of  them  to  go  off  before 
morning." 

The  request  was  urged  to  Elizabeth.  But  Winthrop  quietly 
negatived  it  every  time  it  was  made ;  and  the  sloop's  masters  at 
last  withdrew.     Elizabeth  had  not  spoken  at  all. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  said  Winthrop  gravely,  when  the  Cow- 
slips, father  and  son,  had  turned  their  backs  upon  the  vessel. 

"  Thank  you "  said  Elizabeth, — and  stopped  there. 

"  You  are  worn  out." 

"  No," — Elizabeth  answered  under  her  breath ;  and  then 
gathering  it,  went  on, — u  I  am  afraid  you  are." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,"  he  said.     "  But  you  ought  to  rest." 

"  I  will, — by  and  by,"  said  Elizabeth  desperately.  "  I  will 
stay  here  till  the  daylight  comes.     It  will  not  be  long,  will  it  ?  " 

He  made  no  answer.  The  sloop's  deck  was  in  parts  blockaded 
with  a  load  of  shingles.  Winthrop  went  to  these,  and  taking 
down  bundle  after  bundle,  disposed  them  so  as  to  make  a  restiDg- 
place  of  greater  capabilities  than  the  armless  wooden  chair  in 
which  Elizabeth  had  been  sitting  all  night.  Over  this,  seat,  back, 
sides  and  all,  he  spread  the  sail  on  which  he  had  been  lying. 

"  Is  there  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  pillow  or  cushion  that 
you  could  get  out  of  the  cabin  now  ?  "  said  he. 

"  But  you  have  given  me  your  sail,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I'm  master  of  the  sloop  now.     Can't  you  get  a  pillow  ?  " 

Since  so  much  had  been  done  for  her,  Elizabeth  consented  to 
do  this  for  herself.  She  fetched  a  pillow  from  the  cabin ;  and 
Winthrop  himself  bestowed  it  in  the  proper  position;  and  with  a 
'choking  feeling  of  gratitude  and  pleasure  that  did  not  permit  her 
to  utter  one  word,  Elizabeth  placed  herself  in  the  box  seat  made 
for  her,  took  off  her  bonnet  and  laid  her  head  down.  She  knew 
that  Winthrop  laid  her  light  shawl  over  her  head ;  but  she  did 
not  stir.  Her  thanks  reached  only  her  pillow,  in  the  shape  of 
two  or  three  hot  tears ;  then  she  slept. 


18 


CHAPTER    XXXYI. 


Beneath  my  palm-trees,  by  the  river  side, 
I  sat  a  weeping ;  in  the  whole  world  wide 
There  was  no  one  to  ask  me  why  I  wept, — 

And  so  I  kept 
Brimming  the  water-lily  cups  with  tears 

Cold  as  my  fears. 

Shelley. 

The  dawn  had  fairly  broken,  but  that  was  all,  when  Winthrop 
and  old  Mr.  Cowslip  met  on  the  little  wharf  landing  which 
served  instead  of  courtyard  to  the  house.  The  hands  clasped  each 
other  cordially. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  Glad  to  see  you  in  these  parts  !  "  was 
the  hearty  salutation  of  the  old  man  to  the  young. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cowslip,"  said  Winthrop,  returning  tho 
grasp  of  the  hand. 

"  I  don't  see  but  you  keep  your  own,"  the  old  man  went  on, 
looking  at  him  wistfully.  "  Why  don't  you  come  up  our  way 
oftener  ?     It  wouldn't  hurt  you." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Winthrop.  "  My  business 
lies  that  way,  you  know." 

"  Ah  ! — 'tain't  as  good  business  as  our'n,  now,"  said  Mr.  Cow- 
slip. "  You'd  better  by  half  be  up  there  on  the  old  place,  with 
your  wife  and  half  a  dozen  children  about  you.  Ain't  married 
yet,  Governor,  be  you  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"Goin'tobe?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  be,  sir." 

"  Ah  ! — "  said  the  old  miller  with  a  sly  smile.  "  Is  that 
what  you've  got  here  in  the  sloop  with  you  now  ?  I  guessed  it, 
and  Hild'  said  it  wa'n't — not  as  he  knowed  on — but  I  told  him 
he  didn't  know  everything." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  411 

"  Hild'  is  quite  right.  But  there  are  two  ladies  here  who 
are  going  up  to  Shahweetah.  Can  you  give  us  a  boat,  Mr.  Cow- 
slip?" 

"  A  boat  ? — How  many  of  you  ?  " 

"  Four — and  baggage.  Your  boat  is  large  enough — used  to 
be  when  I  went  in  her." 

"  Used  to  be  when  I  went  in  her,"  said  the  old  skipper ;  "  but 
there  it  is  !     She  won't  hold  nobody  now." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  She  took  too  many  passengers  the  other  day, — that  is,  she 
took  one  too  many.  Shipped  a  cargo  of  fresh  meat,  sir,  and  it 
wa'n't  stowed  in  right,  and  the  '  Bessie  Bell '  broke  her  heart 
about  it.     Like  to  ha'  gone  to  the  bottom." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  was  comin'  home  from  Diver's  Bock  the  other  day 
— just  a  week  ago  last  Saturday — I  had  been  round  there  up  the 
shore  after  fish ; — you  know  the  rock  where  the  horse  mackerel 
comes  ? — me  and  little  Archie ;  lucky  enough  we  had  no  more 
along.  By  the  by,  I  hope  you'll  go  fishing,  Winthrop— the 
mackerel's  fine  this  year.     How  long  you're  goin'  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Only  a  day  or  two,  sir." 

"  Ah  ! — Well — we  were  comin'  home  with  a  good  mess  o'  fine 
fish,  and  when  we  were  just  about  in  the  middle  of  the  river, 
comin'  over, — the  fish  had  been  jumping  all  along  the  afternoon, 
shewing  their  heads  and  tails  more  than  common ;  and  I'd  been 
sayin'  to  Archie  it  was  a  sign  o'  rain — 'tis,  you  know, — and  just 
as  we  were  in  the  deepest  of  the  river,  about  half  way  over,  one 
of  'em  came  up  and  put  himself  aboard  of  us." 

"  A  sturgeon  ?  " 

"  Just  that,  sir;  as  sound  a  fellow  as  ever  you  saw  in  your 
life — just  the  length  of  one  of  my  little  oars — longer  than  I  be 
—eight  feet  wanting  one  inch,  he  measured,  for  the  blade  of  that 
oar  has  been  broken  off  a  bit — several  inches, — and  what  do  you 
think  he  weighed  ? — Two  hundred  and  forty  pound." 

"  So  it  seems  you  got  him  safe  to  land,  where  you  could  weigh 
him." 

"  And  measure  him.  I  forgot  I  was  talkin'  to  a  lawyer," 
said  the  old  man  laughing.  "  Yes,  I  didn't  think  much  how  long 
he  was  at  the  time,  I  guess !  He  came  in  as  handsome  as  ever 
you  saw  anything  done — just  slipped  himself  over  the  gunwale 
bo — and  duv  under  one  of  the  th'arts  and  druv  his  nose  through 
the  bottom  of  the  boat." 

"  Kept  it  there,  I  hope  ?  " 


412  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  Ha,  ha !  Not  so  fast  but  there  came  in  a'most  water 
enough  to  float  him  again  by  the  time  we  got  to  land.  He  was  a 
power  of  a  fellow  !  " 

"  And  the  <  Bessie  '  don't  float  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she's  laid  up  with  three  broken  ribs." 

"  No  other  boat  on  hand  ?  " 

"  There's  a  little  punt  out  there,  that  Hild'  goes  a  fishin'  in — 
that'd  carry  two  or  three  people.  But  it  wouldn't  take  the  hull 
on  ye." 

"  There's  the  sloop's  boat." 

"  She  leaks,"  said  the  miller.  "  She  wan  A  to  lie  laid  up  as 
bad  as  the  '  Bessie.'  " 

"  Have  you  any  sort  of  a  team,  Mr.  Cowslip  ?" 

"  Yes ! — there's  my  little  wagon — it'll  hold  two.  But  you 
ain't  wanting  it  yet,  be  you  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  it  can  go — if  it  can  go.  Is  there  a  horse  to  the 
wagon  ?  " 

"  Sartain !  But  won't  you  stop  and  take  a  bit  ?  " 

"  No  sir.  If  you  will  let  some  of  the  boys  take  up  the  punt 
with  her  load,  I'll  drive  the  wagon  myself,  and  as  soon  as  you  can 
let  me  have  it." 

"  Jock  ! — tackle  up  the  wagon ! — that  'ere  little  red  one  in 
the  barn,"  shouted  the  miller.  "  Hild'  '11  see  to  the  boat-load — 
or  I  will, — and  send  it  right  along.     I'm  sorry  you  won't  stop." 

Winthrop  turned  back  to  the  sloop.  Elizabeth  met  him  there 
with  the  question,  "  if  she  might  not  go  now  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  you  please.  I  am  going  to  drive  you  up  to 
Shahweetah.  The  boat  will  carry  the  rest,  but  it  is  too  small  to 
take  all  of  us." 

"  I'm  very  glad  !  " — Elizabeth  could  not  help  saying. 

She  granted  half  a  word  of  explanation  to  Mrs.  Nettley,  her 
bonnet  was  hastily  thrown  on,  and  she  stood  with  Winthrop  on 
the  wharf  before  the  little  wagon  was  fairly  ready.  But  Jock 
was  not  tardy  neither ;  and  a  very  few  minutes  saw  them  seated 
and  the  horse's  head  turned  from  the  Mill. 

The  dawn  was  fresh  and  fair  yet,  hardly  yielding  to  day.  In 
utter  silence  they  drove  swiftly  along  the  road,  through  the 
woods  and  out  upon  the  crest  of  tableland  overlooking  the  bay ; 
just  above  the  shore  where  the  huckleberry  party  had  coasted 
along,  that  afternoon  years  before.  By  the  time  they  got  there, 
the  day  had  begun  to  assert  itself.  Little  clouds  over  Wut-a- 
qut-o's  head  were  flushing  into  loveliness,  and  casting  down  rosy 
tints  on  the  water ;  the  mountain  slopes  were  growing  bright,  and 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  413 

a  soft  warm  colouring  flung  through  all  the  air  from  the  coming 
rays  of  the  coming  sun.  The  cat-birds  were  wide  awake  and 
very  busy ;  the  song  sparrows  full  of  gladness ;  and  now  and 
then,  further  off,  a  wood-thrush,  less  worldly  than  the  one  and 
less  unchastened  than  the  other,  told  of  hidden  and  higher  sweets, 
in  tones  further  removed  from  Earth  than  his  companions  knew. 
The  wild,  pure,  ethereal  notes  thrilled  like  a  voice  from  some 
clear  region  where  earthly  defilement  had  been  overcome,  and 
earthly  sorrows  had  lost  their  power.  Between  whiles,  the  little 
song  sparrows  strained  their  throats  with  rejoicing ;  but  that  was 
the  joy  of  hilarious  nature  that  sorrows  and  defilement  had  never 
touched.  The  cat-birds  spoke  of  business,  and  sung  over  it,  am- 
bitious and  self-gratulatory,  and  proud.  And  then  by  turns  came 
the  strange  thrush's  note,  saying,  as  if  they  knew  it  acl  had 
proved  it, 

"When  He  givetii  quietness,  then  who  can  make  trouble  ?" 

The  travellers  had  ridden  so  far  without  speaking  a  word.  If 
Elizabeth  was  sometimes  weeping,  she  kept  herself  very  quiet,  and 
perfectly  still.  The  sights  and  sounds  that  were  abroad  entered  her 
mind  by  a  side  door,  if  thev  entered  at  all.  Winthrop  might  have 
taken  the  benefit  of  them ;  but  up  to  the  bend  of  the  bay  he  had 
driven  fast  and  attentively.  Here  he  suffered  the  horse  to  slacken 
his  pace  and  come  even  to  a  walk,  while  his  eye  took  note  of  the 
flushing  morning,  and  perhaps  the  song  of  the  birds  reached  his 
ear.     It  was  not  of  them  he  spoke. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  begin  upon  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew  ?  " 
he  said,  when  the  horse  had  walked  the  length  of  some  two  or 
three  minutes. 

"  Yes  ! — I  do  " — said  Elizabeth,  turning  her  face  towards  him. 

"  According  to  the  rules  ?  " 

The  answer  was  spoken  more  hesitatingly,  but  again  it  was 
1  yes.' 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Winthrop,"  said  Elizabeth  presently,  speaking  it  seemed 
with  some  effort, — "  if  I  get  into  any  difficulty — if  I  cannot  under- 
stand,— I  mean,  if  I  am  in  any  real  trouble,. — may  I  write  to  you 
to  ask  about  it  ?  " 

"  With  great  pleasure.  I  mean,  it  would  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  have  you  do  so." 

"  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said  humbly. 

She  did  not  see,  for  she  did  not  look  to  see,  a  tiny  show  of  a 
smile  which  spread  itself  over  her  companion's  face.  They  drove 
on  fast,  till  the  bottom  of  the  bay  was  left  and  they  descended 


414:  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

from  the  tableland,  by  Sam  Doolittle's,  to  the  road  which  skirted 
the  south  side  of  Shahweetah.  Winthrop  looked  keenly  as  he 
passed  at  the  old  fields  and  hillsides.  They  were  uncultivated 
now ;  fallow  lands  and  unmown  grass  pastures  held  the  place  of 
the  waving  harvests  of  grain  and  new-reaped  stubblefields  that 
used  to  be  there  in  the  old  time.  The  pastures  grew  rank,  for 
there  were  even  no  cattle  to  feed  them ;  and  the  fallows  were 
grown  with  thistles  and  weeds.  But  over  what  might  have  been 
desolate  lay  the  soft  warmth  of  the  summer  morning ;  and  rank 
pasture  and  uncared  fallow  ground  took  varied  rich  and  bright 
hues  under  the  early  sun's  rays.  Those  rays  had  now  waked  the 
hilltops  and  sky  and  river,  and  were  just  tipping  the  woods  and 
slopes  of  the  lower  ground.  By  the  bend  meadow  Winthrop  drew 
in  his  horse  again  and  looked  fixedly. 

"  Does  it  seem  pleasant  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  How  should  it,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  "  Elizabeth  said  coldly. 

"  Do  you  change  your  mind  about  wishing  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all.  I  might  as  well  be  here  as  anywhere,  x 
would  rather — I  have  nowhere  else  to  go." 

He  made  no  comment,  but  drove  on  fast  again,  till  he  drew 
up  once  more  at  the  old  back  door  of  the  old  house.  It  seemed  a 
part  of  the  solitude,  for  nothing  was  stirring.  Elizabeth  sat  and 
watched  Winthrop  tie  the  horse ;  then  he  came  and  helped  her 
out  of  the  wagon. 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  he.     u  You  are  trembling  all  over." 

He  put  he?  arm  within  his,  and  led  her  up  to  the  door  and 
knocked. 

M  Karen  is  up — unless  she  has  forgotten  her  old  ways,"  said 
Winthrop.     He  knocked  again. 

A  minute  after,  the  door  slowly  opened  its  upper  half,  and 
Karen's  wrinkled  face  and  white  cap  and  red  shortgown  were  be- 
fore them.  Winthrop  did  not  speak.  Karen  looked  in  bewilder- 
ment ;  then  her  bewilderment  changed  into  joy. 

"  Mr.  Winthrop !— Governor  !  " — 

And  her  hand  was  stretched  out,  and  clasped  his  in  a  long 
mute  stringent  clasp,  which  her  eyes  at  least  said  was  all  she 
could  do. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Karen  ?  " 

"  I'm  well — the  Lord  has  kept  me.     But  you " 

"  I  am  well,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Will  you  let  us  come  in,  Karen  ? 
— This  lady  has  been  up  all  night,  and  wants  rest  and  refreshment." 

Karen  looked  suspiciously  at  '  this  lady,'  as  she  unbolted  the 
lower  half  of  the  door  and  let  them  in  ;  and  again  when  Winthrop 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTC.  415 

carefully  placed  her  in  a  chair  and  then  went  off  into  the  inner 
room  for  one  which  he  knew  was  more  easy,  and  made  her  change 
the  first  for  it. 

"  And  what  have  ye  come  up  for  now,  Jlovernor  ?  "  she  said, 
when  she  had  watched  them  both,  with  an  unsatisfied  look  upon 
her  face  and  a  tone  of  deep  satisfaction  coming  out  in  her  words. 
"  Breakfast,  Karen.  What's  to  be  had  ?  " 
"  Breakfast  ?  La  !  " — said  the  old  woman, — "  if  you  had  told 
me  you's  coming — What  do  you  expect  I'll  have  in  the  house  for 
my  breakfast,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Something ,"  said  Winthrop,  taking  the  tongs  and  set- 
tling the  sticks  of  wood  in  the  chimney  to  burn  better.  Karen 
stood  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  have  you  got,  Karen  ?  "  said  Winthrop,  setting  up  the 
tongs. 

"  I  ha'n't  got  nothing  for  company,"  said  Karen,  grinning. 
"  That'll  do  very  well,"  said  Winthrop.     "  Give  me  the  coffee 
and  I'll  make  it;  and  you  see  to  the  bread,  Karen.     You  have 
milk  and  cream,  haven't  you  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Governor." 
"And  eggs?" 
"La!  yes." 
"Where  are  they?" 

"  Mr.  Landholm,  don't  trouble  yourself,  pray  !  "  said  Eliza- 
beth.    u  I  am  in  no  hurry  for  anything.     Pray  don't !  " 

"  I  don't  intend  it,"  said  he.  "  Don't  trouble  your  self.  Would 
you  rather  go  into  another  room  ?  " 

Elizabeth  would  not ;  and  therefore  and  thereafter  kept  her- 
self quiet,  watching  the  motions  of  Karen  and  her  temporary 
master.  Karen  seemed  in  a  maze ;  but  a  few  practical  advices 
from  Winthrop  at  last  brought  her  back  to  the  usual  possession  of 
her  senses  and  faculties. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  Elizabeth  heard  her  whisper  as  she  began  to 
bustle  about.     And  Winthrop's  answer,  not  whispered, 

"  How  long  ago  do  you  suppose  this  coffee  was  parched  ?  " 
"  No  longer  ago  than  yesterday.     La  sakes  !  Governor, — I'll 
do  some  fresh  for  you  if  you  want  it." 

"  No  time  for  that,  Karen.  You  get  on  with  those  cakes." 
Elizabeth  watched  Winthrop  with  odd  admiration  and  curi- 
osity, mixed  for  the  moment  with  not  a  little  of  gratified  feeling ; 
but  the  sense  of  desolation  sitting  back  of  all.  He  seemed  to 
have  come  out  in  a  new  character,  or  rather  to  have  taken  up  an 
old  one ;  for  no  one  could  suppose  it  worn  for  the  first  time. 


416  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

Karen  had  been  set  to  making  cakes  with  all  speed.  Winthrop 
seemed  to  have  taken  the  rest  of  the  breakfast  upon  himself.  He 
had  found  the  whereabout  of  the  eggs,  and  ground  some  coffee, 
and  made  it  and  set  it  to  boil  in  Karen's  tin  coffeepot. 

"  What  are  you  after  now,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?  "  said  Karen,  look 
ing  round  from  her  pan  and  moulding  board.  "  These'll  be  in  the 
spider  before  your  coffee's  boiled." 

"  They'll  have  to  be  quick,  then,"  said  Winthrop,  going  on 
with  his  rummaging. 

"  What  are  you  after,  Governor  ? —  there's  no  thin'  there  but 
the  pots  and  kittles." 

One  of  which,  however,  Winthrop  brought  out  as  if  it  was 
the  thing  wanted,  and  put  upon  the  fire  with  water  in  it.  Going 
back  to  the  receptacle  of  f  pots  and  kittles,'  he  next  came  forth 
with  the  article  Karen  had  designated  as  the '  spider,'  and  set  that 
in  order  due  upon  its  appropriate  bed  of  coals. 

"  La  sakes !  Governor  !  "  said  Karen,  in  a  sort  of  fond  admi- 
ration,— "  ha'n't  you  forgot  nothin'  ?  " 

"  Now  Karen,"  said  Winthrop,  when  she  had  covered  the 
bottom  of  the  hot  iron  with  her  thin  cakes," — you  set  the  table 
and  I'll  take  care  of  'em." 

"  There's  the  knife,  then,"  said  Karen.  "  Will  ye  know  when 
to  turn  them  ?    There  ain't  fire  enough  to  bake  'em  by  the  blaze." 

"  I've  not  forgotten  so  much,"  said  Winthrop.  "  Let's  have 
a  cup  and  saucer  and  plate,  Karen." 

"  Ye  sha'n't  have  one"  said  Karen,  casting  another  inquisitive 
and  doubtful  glance  towards  the  silent,  pale,  fixed  figure  sitting  in 
the  middle  of  her  kitchen.  He  did  have  one,  however,  before  she 
had  got  the  two  ready ;  despatched  Karen  from  the  table  for  sugar 
and  cream ;  and  then  poured  out  himself  a  cup  of  his  own  prepa- 
ration, and  set  it  on  Karen's  half-spread  table,  and  came  to  Eliza- 
beth. He  did  not  ask  her  if  she  would  have  it,  nor  say  anything 
in  fact ;  but  gently  raising  her  with  one  hand,  he  brought  forward 
her  chair  with  the  other,  and  placed  both  where  he  wanted  them 
to  be,  in  the  close  neighbourhood  of  the  steaming  coffee.  Once 
before,  Elizabeth  had  known  him  take  the  same  sort  of  superin- 
tending care  of  her,  when  she  was  in  no  condition  to  take  care  of 
herself.  It  was  inexpressibly  soothing ;  and  yet  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  have  knelt  down  on  the  floor,  and  given  forth  her  very  life 
in  tears.  She  looked  at  the  coffee  with  a  motionless  face,  till  his 
hand  held  it  out  to  her.  Not  to  drink  it  was  impossible,  though 
she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  swallowing  anything  but  tears. 
When  she  took  the  cup  from  her  lips,  she  found  an  egg,  hot  out  of 


THE  HILLS  OF  THE   SHATEMtTC.  417 

the  water,  on  her  plate,  which  was  already  supplied  also  with  but- 
ter. Her  provider  was  just  adding  one  of  the  cakes  he  had  been 
baking. 

"  I  can't  eat !  "  said  Elizabeth,  looking  up. 

"  You  must, — "  Winthrop  answered. 

In  the  same  tone  in  which  he  had  been  acting.  Elizabeth 
obeyed  it  as  involuntarily. 

"  Who  is  the  lady,  Governor  ?  "  Karen  ventured,  when  she  had 
possessed  herself  of  the  cake-knife,  and  had  got  Winthrop  fairly 
seated  at  his  breakfast. 

"  This  lady  is  the  mistress  of  the  place,  Karen." 

"  The  mistress !  Ain't  you  the  master  ?  " — Karen  inquired 
instantly. 

"  No.    I  have  no  right  here  any  longer,  Karen." 

"  I  heered  it  was  selled,  but  I  didn't  rightly  believe  it,"  the  old 
woman  said  sadly.  "  And  the  mistress  '11  be  turning  me  away 
now  ?  " 

"  Tell  her  no,"  whispered  Elizabeth. 

"  I  believe  not,  Karen,  unless  you  wish  it." 

"  What  should  I  wish  it  for  ?  I've  been  here  ever  since  I 
come  with  Mis'  Landholm,  when  she  come  first,  and  she  left  me 
here ;  and  I  want  to  stay  here,  in  her  old  place,  till  I'm  called  to 
be  with  her  again.     D'ye  think  it'll  be  long,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  haste,  Karen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  fur  to  stay/'  said  the  old  woman.  "  She's  gone, 
and  I  can-t  take  care  o'  you  no  longer,  nor  no  one.  I'd  like  to  be 
gone,  too — yes,  I  would." 

"  You  have  work  to  do  yet,  Karen.  You  may  take  as  good 
care  as  you  can  of  this  lady." 

Again  Karen  looked  curiously  and  suspiciously  at  her,  for  a 
minute  in  silence. 

"  Is  she  one  of  the  Lord's  people  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

Elizabeth  looked  up  on  the  instant,  in  utter  astonishment  at 
the  question ;  first  at  Karen  and  then  at  Winthrop.  The  next 
thing  was  a  back-sweeping  tide  of  feeling,  which  made  her  drop 
her  bread  and  her  cup  from  her  hands,  and  hide  her  face  in  them 
with  a  bitter  burst  of  tears.  Winthrop  looked  concerned,  and 
Karen  confounded.  But  she  presently  repeated  her  question  in  a 
half  whisper  at  Winthrop. 

"Is  she?-—" 

"  There  is  more  company  coming,  Karen,  for  you  to  take  care 
of,"  he  said  quietly  '*  I  hone  you  have  cakes  enough.  Miss 
18* 


418  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

Haye — I  see  the  boat-load  has  arrived — will  you    go  into  the 
other  room  ?  " 

She  rose,  and  not  seeing  where  she  went,  let  him  lead  her. 
The  front  part  of  the  house  was  unfurnished ;  but  to  the  little 
square  passage-way  where  the  open  door  let  in  the  breeze  from  the 
river,  Winthrop  brought  a  chair,  and  there  she  sat  down.  He  left 
her  there  and  went  back  to  see  to  the  other  members  of  the  party, 
and  as  she  guessed  to  keep  them  from  intruding  upon  her.  She 
was  long  alone. 

The  fresh  sweet  air  blew  in  upon  her  hot  face  and  hands,  re- 
minding her  what  sort  of  a  world  it  came  from ;  and  after  the  first 
few  violent  bursts  of  pain,  Elizabeth  presently  raised  her  head  to 
look  out  and  see,  in  a  sort  of  dogged  willingness  to  take  the  con- 
trast which  she  knew  was  there.  The  soft  fair  hilly  outlines  she 
remembered,  in  the  same  August  light; — the  bright  bend  of  the 
river — a  sloop  sail  or  two  pushing  lazily  up ; — the  same  blue  of  a 
summer  morning  overhead  ; — the  little  green  lawn  immediately  at 
her  feet,  and  the  everlasting  cedars,  with  their  pointed  tops  and 
their  hues  of  patient  sobriety — all  stood  nearly  as  she  had  left 
them,  how  many  years  before.  And  herself — Elizabeth  felt  as  if 
she  could  have  laid  herself  down  on  the  doorstep  and  died,  for 
mere  heart-heaviness.  In  this  bright  sunny  world,  what  had  she 
to  do  ?  The  sun  had  gone  out  of  her  heart.  What  was  to  be- 
come of  her  ?  What  miserable  part  should  she  play,  all  alone  by 
herself?  She  despised  herself  for  having  eaten  breakfast  that 
morning.  What  business  had  she  to  eat,  or  to  have  any  appetite 
to  eat,  when  she  felt  so  ?  But  Winthrop  had  made  her  do  it. 
What  for  ?  Why  should  he  ?  It  was  mere  aggravation,  to  take 
care  of  her  for  a  day,  and  then  throw  her  off  for  ever  to  take  care 
of  herself.     How  soon  would  he  do  that  ? — 

She  was  musing,  her  eyes  on  the  ground ;  and  had  quite  for- 
gotten the  sunny  landscape  before  her  with  all  its  gentle  sugges- 
tions ;  when  Winthrop's  voice  sounded  pleasantly  in  her  ear,  ask- 
ing if  she  felt  better.     Elizabeth  looked  up. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "  that  if  there  were  nothing  better 
to  be  had  in  another  world,  I  could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
wish  I  had  never  been  born  into  this  !  " 

She  expected  that  he  would  make  some  answer  to  her,  but  he 
did  not.  He  was  quite  silent ;  and  Elizabeth  presently  began  to 
question  with  herself  whether  she  had  said  something  dreadful. 
She  was  busily  taking  up  her  own  words,  since  he  had  not  saved 
her  the  trouble.  She  found  herself  growing  very  much  ashamed 
of  them. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMtJC.  419 

"  I  suppose  that  was  a  foolish  speech,"  she  said,  after  a  few 
moments  of  perfect  silence, — "  a  speech  of  impatience." 

But  Winthrop  neither  endorsed  nor  denied  her  opinion ;  he 
said  nothing  about  it ;  and  Elizabeth  was  exceedingly  mortified. 

"  If  you  wanted  to  rebuke  me,"  she  thought,  "  you  could  not 
have  done  it  better.  I  suppose  there  is  no  rebuke  so  sharp  as  that 
one  is  obliged  to  administer  to  oneself.  And  your  cool  keeping 
silence  is  about  as  effectual  a  way  of  telling  me  that  you  have  no 
interest  in  my  concerns  as  even  you  could  have  devised." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  must  have  swallowed  the  landscape  whole,  for 
they  certainly  took  in  no  distinct  part  of  it. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  make  yourself  comfortable  here  ?  " 
said  Winthrop  presently ; — u  these  rooms  are  unfurnished." 

She  might  have  said  that  she  did  not  expect  to  be  comfortable 
anywhere  ;  but  she  swallowed  that  too. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  what  I  can  do  in  the  way  of  getting  some 
furniture  together,"  he  went  on.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  find 
some  way  of  taking  rest  in  the  mean  time — though  I  confess  I  do 
not  see  how." 

"  Pray  do  not ! "  said  Elizabeth  starting  up,  and  her  whole 
manner  and  expression  changing.  "I  am  sure  you  are  tired  to 
death  now." 

"  Not  at  all.     I  slept  last  night." 

"  How  much  ?  Pray  do  not  go  looking  after  anything !  You 
will  trouble  me  very  much." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  that." 

"  I  can  gel  all  the  rest  I  want." 

"  Where  V  " 

"  On  the  rocks — on  the  grass." 

11  Might  do  for  a  little  while,"  said  Winthrop ; — "  I  hope  it 
will;  but  I  must  try  for  something  better." 

"  Where  can  you  find  anything — in  this  region  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  must  be  found.  If  not  in 
this  region,  in  some  other." 

"  To-morrow,  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  To-morrow — has  its  own  work,"  said  he;  and  went. 

u  Will  he  go  to-morrow  ?  "  thought  Elizabeth,  with  a  pang  at 
her  heart.  "  Oh,  I  wish — no,  I  dare  not  wish — that  I  had  never 
been  born !     What  am  I  to  do  with  myself?  — " 

Conscience  suggested  very  quietly  that  something  might  bo 
done ;  but  Elizabeth  bade  conscience  wait  for  another  time,  though 
granting  all  it  advanced.     She  put  that  by,  as  she  did  Mrs.  Net- 


420  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

tley  and  Clam  who  both  presently  came  where  Winthrop  had  been 
standing,  to  make  advances  of  a  different  nature. 

"  What'll  I  do,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  "  said  the  latter,  in  a  tone 
that  argued  a  somewhat  dismal  view  of  affairs. 

"  Anything  you  can  find  to  do." 

"  Can't  find  nothin, — "  said  Clam,"  'cept  Karen.  One  corner  of 
the  house  is  filled  enough  with  her ;  and  the  rest  ha'n't  got  nothin' 
in  it." 

"  Let  Karen  alone,  and  take  care  of  your  own  business, 
Clam." 

"  If  I  knowed  what  'twas,"  said  the  persevering  damsel.  "  I 
can't  make  the  beds,  for  there  ain't  none ;  nor  set  the  furnitur 
to  rights,  for  the  rooms  is  'stressed  empty." 

"  You  can  let  me  alone,  at  all  events.  The  rooms  will  have 
something  in  them  before  long.  You  know  what  to  do  as  well  as 
any  one ; — if  you  don't,  ask  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  Guess  I  will !  "  said  Clam ;  "  when  I  want  to  feel  foolisher 
than  I  do.     Did  the  furnitur  come  by  the  sloop  ?  " 

"  No.  Mr.  Landholm  will  send  some.  I  don't  care  anything 
about  it." 

"  Ha  !  then  if  he's  goin'  to  send  it,"  said  Clam  turning  away, 
"  the  place  '11  have  to  be  ready  for  it,  I  s'pose." 

Mrs.  Nettley  appeared  in  Clam's  place.  Elizabeth  was  still 
sitting  on  the  door-step,  and  though  she  knew  by  a  side  view  that 
one  had  given  place  to  the  other,  she  did  not  seem  to  know  it 
and  sat  looking  straight  before  her  at  the  sunny  landscape. 

"  It's  a  beautiful  place,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  after  a  little  pause 
of  doubt. 

"  Very  beautiful,"  said  Elizabeth  coldly. 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was  so  beautiful.  And  a  healthy  place,  I 
should  suppose." 

Elizabeth  left  the  supposition  unquestioned. 

"  You  are  sadly  fatigued,  Miss  Haye,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  after 
a  longer  pause  than  before. 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  Elizabeth  risiDg,  for  patience  had 
drawn  her  last  breath; — "  I  am  going  down  by  the  water  to  rest. 
Don't  let  any  one  follow  me  or  call  me — I  want  nothing — only  to 
rest  by  myself." 

And  drawing  her  scarf  round  her,  she  strode  through  the 
rank  grass  to  the  foot  of  the  lawn,  and  then  between  scattered 
rocks  and  sweetbriars  and  wild  rose-bushes,  to  the  fringe  of  cedar 
trees  which  there  clothed  the  rocks  down  to  the  water.  Between 
and  beneath  them,  just  where  she  came  out  upon  the  river,  an 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  421 

outlooking  mass  of  granite  spread  itself  smooth  and  wide  enough 
to  seat  two  or  three  people.  The  sun's  rays  could  not  reach  there, 
except  through  thick  cedar  boughs.  Cedar  trees  and  the  fall  of 
ground  hid  it  from  the  house ;  and  in  front  a  clear  opening  gave 
her  a  view  of  the  river  and  opposite  shore,  and  of  a  cedar-covered 
point  of  her  own  land,  outjutting  a  little  distance  further  on. 
Solitude,  silence,  and  beauty  invited  her  gently  ;  and  Elizabeth 
threw  herself  down  on  the  grey  lichen-grown  stone ;  but  rest  was 
not  there. 

"  Rest !  " — she  said  to  herself  in  great  bitterness ; — "  rest ! 
How  can  I  rest  ? — or  where  can  there  be  rest  for  me  ? " 

And  then  passionate  nature  took  its  will  and  poured  out  to  it- 
self and  drank  all  the  deep  draughts  of  pain  that  passion  alone  can 
fill  and  refill  for  its  own  food.  Elizabeth's  proud  head  bowed  there, 
to  the  very  rock  she  sat  on.  Yet  the  proud  heart  would  not  lay 
itself  down  as  well ;  that  stood  up  to  breast  pain  and  wrestle  with 
it,  and  take  the  full  fierce  power  of  the  blast  that  came.  Till 
nature  was  tired  out, — till  the  frame  subsided  from  convulsions 
that  racked  it,  into  weary  repose, — so  long  the  struggle  lasted ; 
and  then  the  struggle  was  not  ended,  but  only  the  forces  on  either 
side  had  lost  the  power  of  carrying  it  on.  And  then  she  sat, 
leaning  against  a  cedar  trunk  that  gave  her  its  welcome  support, 
which  every  member  and  muscle  craved ;  not  relieved,  but  with 
that  curious  respite  from  pain  which  the  dulled  senses  take  when 
they  have  borne  suffering  as  long  and  as  sharply  as  they  can. 

It  was  hot  in  the  sun ;  but  only  a  warm  breath  of  summer 
air  played  about  Elizabeth  where  she  sat.  The  little  waves  of  the 
river  glittered  and  shone  and  rolled  lazily  down  upon  the  channel, 
or  curled  up  in  rippling  eddies  towards  the  shore.  The  sunlight 
was  growing  ardent  upon  the  hills  and  the  river ;  but  over  Eliz- 
beth's  head  the  shade  was  still  unbroken.  A  soft  aromatic  smell 
came  from  the  cedars,  now  and  then  broken  in  upon  by  a  faint  puff 
of  fresher  air  from  the  surface  of  the  water.  Hardly  any  sound, 
but  the  murmur  of  the  ripple  at  the  water's  edge  and  the  cherup- 
ing  of  busy  grasshoppers  upon  the  lawn.  Now  and  then  a  locust 
did  sing  out ;  he  only  said  it  was  August  and  that  the  sun  was 
shining  hot  and  sleepily  everywhere  but  under  the  cedar  trees. 
His  song  was  irresistible.  Elizabeth  closed  her  eyes  and  listened 
to  it,  in  a  queer  kind  of  luxurious  rest-taking  which  was  had  be- 
cause mind  and  body  would  have  it.  Pain  was  put  away,  in  a 
sort ;  for  the  senses  of  pain  were  blurred.  The  aromatic  smell 
of  the  evergreens  was  wafted  about  her ;  and  then  came  a  touch, 
a  most  gentle  touch,  of  the  south  river-breeze  upon  her  face ;  and 


422  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

then  the  long  dreamy  cry  of  the  locust ;  and  the  soft  plashing 
sound  of  the  water  at  her  feet.  All  Elizabeth's  faculties  were 
crying  for  sleep ;  and  sleep  came,  handed  in  by  the  locust  and 
the  summer  air,  and  laid  its  kind  touch  of  forgetfulness  upon 
mind  and  body.  At  first  she  lost  herself  leaning  against  the 
cedar  tree,  waking  up  by  turns  to  place  herself  better ;  and  at 
last  yielding  to  the  overpowering  influences  without  and  within, 
she  curled  her  head  down  upon  a  thick  bed  of  moss  at  her  side  and 
gave  herself  up  to  such  rest  as  she  might. 

What  sort  of  rest  ?  Only  the  rest  of  the  body,  which  had 
made  a  truce  with  the  mind  for  the  purpose.  A  quiet  which 
knew  that  storms  were  not  over,  but  which  would  be  quiet  never- 
theless. Elizabeth  felt  that,  in  her  intervals  of  half-consciousness. 
But  all  the  closer  she  clung  to  her  pillow  of  dry  moss.  She  had 
a  dispensation  from  sorrow  there.  When  her  head  left  it,  it 
would  be  to  ache  again.  It  should  not  ache  now.  Sweet  moss  ! 
— sweet  summer  air  ! — sweet  sound  of  plashing  water  ! — sweet 
dreamy  lullaby  of  the  locust ! — Oh  if  they  could  put  her  to  sleep 
for  ever  ! sing  pain  out  and  joy  in  ! 

A  vague,  half-realized  notion  of  the  fight  that  must  be  gone 
through  before  rest  '  for  ever '  could  in  any  wise  be  hoped  for — 
of  the  things  that  must  be  gained  and  the  things  that  must  be 
lost  before  that  l  for  ever '  rest  could  in  any  sort  be  looked  for- 
ward to, and  dismissing  the  thought,  Elizabeth  blessed  her 

fragrant  moss  pillow  of  Lethe  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

How  she  dreaded  getting  rested ;  how  she  longed  for  that 
overpowering  fatigue  and  exhaustion  of  mind  and  body  to  prolong 
itself !  And  as  the  hours  went  on,  she  knew  that  she  was  getting 
rested,  and  that  she  would  have  to  wake  up  to  everything  again 
by  and  by.     It  should  not  be  at  anybody's  bidding. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth  ! — "  sounded  Clam's  voice  in  the  midst  of 
her  slumbers. 

"  Go  away,  Clam  !  "  said  the  sleeper,  without  opening  her  eyes. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth,  ain't  ye  goin'  to  eat  nothin'  r  " 

"  No — Go  away." 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth ! — dinner's  ready." 

"Well!—" 

"  You're  a  goin'  to  kill  yourself." 

"  Don't  you  kill  me !  "  said  Elizabeth  impatiently.    "  Go  off." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Clam  as  she  turned  away, — "  there  ain't 
much  company." 

It  was  very  vexing  to  be  disturbed.     But  just  as  she  was 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC.  423 

getting  quiet  again,  came  the  tread  of  Mrs.  Nettley's  foot  "behind 
her,  and  Elizabeth  knew  another  colloquy  was  at  hand. 

"  Are  you  asleep,  Miss  Haye  ?  "  said  the  good  lady  a  little 
timidly. 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth  lifting  her  head  wearily, — "  I  wish 
[  were." 

"  There's  dinner  got  ready  for  you  in  the  house." 

"  Let  anybody  eat  it  that  can. — I  can't." 

"  Wouldn't  you  be  better  for  taking  a  little  something  ?  I'm 
afraid  you'll  give  way  if  you  do  not." 

u  I  don't  care,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Let  me  give  way — only 
let  me  alone  !  " 

She  curled  her  head  down  determinately  again. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Miss  Haye,  you  will  be  ill,"  said  poor  Mrs. 
Nettley. 

"  I  am  willing," — said  Elizabeth.  "  I  don't  care  about  any- 
thing, but  to  be  quiet ! — " 

Mrs.  Nettley  went  off  in  despair ;  and  Elizabeth  in  despair 
also,  found  that  vexation  had  effectually  driven  away  sleep.  In 
vain  the  locust  sang  and  the  moss  smelled  sweet ;  the  tide  of 
feeling  had  made  head  again,  and  back  came  a  rush  of  disagreeable 
things,  worse  after  worse ;  till  Elizabeth's  brow  quitted  the  moss 
pillow  to  be  buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  half-quieted  spirit 
shook  anew  with  the  fresh-raised  tempest.  Exhaustion  came 
back  again ;  and  thankfully  she  once  more  laid  herself  down  to 
sleep  and  forgetfulness. 

Her  sleep  was  sound  this  time.  The  body  asserted  its  rights  ; 
and  long,  long  she  lay  still  upon  her  moss  pillow,  while  the  regu- 
lar deep-drawn  breath  came  and  went,  fetching  slow  supplies  of 
strength  and  refreshment.  The  sun  quitted  its  overhead  position 
and  dipped  towards  Wut-a-qut-o,  behind  the  high  brow  of  which, 
in  summer-time,  it  used  to  hide  itself.  A  slant  ray  found  an 
opening  in  the  thick  tree-tops,  and  shone  full  upon  Elizabeth's 
face ;  but  it  failed  to  rouse  her ;  and  it  soon  went  up  higher  and 
touched  a  little  song  sparrow  that  was  twittering  in  a  cedar  tree 
close  by.  Then  the  shadows  of  the  trees  fell  long  over  the  grass 
towards  the  rocks  on  the  east. 

Elizabeth  was  awakened  at  last  by  a  familiar  adjuration. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth ! — you'll  catch  a  Typhus,  or  an  agur,  or 
somethin'  dreadful,  down  there !  Don't  ye  want  to  live  no 
more  in  the  world  ?  " 

Elizabeth  sat  up,  and  rested  her  face  on  her  knees,  feeling 
giddy  and  sick. 


424:  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

"Don't  ye  feel  bad?" 

"  Hush,  Clam ! " 

u  I'm  sent  after  ye,"  said  Clam, — "  I  dursn't  hush.  Folks 
thinks  it  is  time  you  was  back  in  the  house." 

"  Hush  ! — I  don't  care  what  folks  think." 

"'  Not  what  nobody  thinks  ?  "  said  Clam. 

"  What  do  you  mean  !  "  said  Elizabeth  flashing  round  upon 
her.     u  Go  back  into  the  house. — I  will  come  when  I  am  ready." 

"  You're  ready  now,"  said  Clam.  "  Miss  'Lizabeth,  ye  ain't 
fit  for  anything,  for  want  of  eatin'.     Come  ! — they  want  ye." 

"  Not  much,"— thought  Elizabeth  bitterly,—"  if  they  left  it 
to  her  to  bring  me  in." 

"  Are  you  sick,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  He's  come  home,"  Clam  went  on ; — "  and  you  never  saw  the 
things  he  has  brought !  Him  and  me's  been  puttin'  'em  up  and 
down.     Lots  o'  things.     Ain't  he  a  man !  " 

"  'Up  and  down ! '"  repeated  Elizabeth. 

" Egg-zackly," — said  Clam; — " Floor-spreads — what-d'ye-call- 
ems  ? — and  bedsteads — and  chairs.  He  said  if  he'd  know'd  the 
house  was  all  stripped,  he'd  never  have  fetched  you  up  here." 

"  Yes  he  would,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  What  do  I  care  for  a 
stripped  house ! " — "  with  a  stripped  heart,"  her  thought  finished  it. 

"  Well  don't  you  care  for  supper  neither  ? — for  that  old  thing 
is  a  fixin'  it,"  said  Clam. 

"  You  must  not  call  her  names  to  me." 

"  Ain't  she  old  ?"  said  Clam. 

"  She  is  a  very  good  old  woman,  I  believe." 

"  Ain't  you  comin'  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  They  won't  sit  dowi? 
without  you." 

"  Who  sent  you  out  here  ?  " 

"  Karen  axed  where  you  was ;  and  Mrs.  Nettley  said  she 
dursn't  go  look  for  you ;  and  Mr.  Landholm  said  I  was  to  come 
and  bring  you  in." 

"  He  didn't,  Clam ! " 

"  As  likely  as  your  head's  been  in  the  moss  there,  he  did,  Miss 
'Lizabeth." 

"  Go  yourself  back  into  the  house.  I'll  come  when  I  am 
ready,  and  I  am  not  ready  yet." 

"  He  ha'n't  had  nothin'  to  eat  to-day,  I  don't  believe,"  said 
Clam,  by  way  of  a  parting  argument.  But  Elizabeth  let  her  go 
without  seeming  to  hear  her. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  looking  down 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  425 

upon  the  water ;  her  eyes  slowly  filling  with  proud  and  bitter 
tears.  Yet  she  saw  and  felt  how  coolly  the  lowering  sunbeams 
were  touching  the  river  now;  that  evening's  sweet  breath  was  be- 
ginning to  freshen  up  among  the  hills ;  that  the  daintiest,  lightest, 
cheeriest  gilding  was  upon  every  mountain  top,  and  wavelet,  and 
pebble,  and  stem  of  a  tree.  "  Peace  be  to  thee,  fair  nature, 
and  thy  scenes !  " — and  peace  from  them  seems  to  come  too. 
But  oh  how  to  have  it !  Elizabeth  clasped  her  hands  tight  to- 
gether and  then  wrung  them  mutely.  "  0  mountains — 0  river 
— O  birds  !  " — she  thought, — "  If  I  could  but  be  as  senseless  as 
you — or  as  good  for  something ! " 


CHAPTEK    XXXVII 


When  cockleshells  turn  silver  bells, 

When  wine  dreips  red  frae  ilka  tree, 
When  frost  and  snaw  will  warm  us  a', 

Then  I'll  come  doun  an1  dine  wi'  theo. 

Jeannie  Douglass. 

.  The  sun  was  low,  near  Wut-a-qut-o's  brow,  when  at  last  slowly 
and  lingeringly,  and  with  feet  that,  as  it  were,  spurned  each  step 
they  made,  Elizabeth  took  her  way  to  the  house.  But  no  sooner 
did  her  feet  touch  the  doorstep  than  her  listless  and  sullen  mood 
gave  place  to  a  fit  of  lively  curiosity — to  see  what  Winthrop  had 
done.     She  turned  to  the  left  into  the  old  keeping-room. 

It  had  been  very  bare  in  the  morning.  Now,  it  was  stocked 
with  neat  cane-bottomed  chairs,  of  bird's-eye  maple.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor  rested  an  ambitious  little  mahogany  table  with 
claw  feet.  A  stack  of  green  window-blinds  stood  against  the  pier 
between  the  windows,  and  at  the  bottom  on  the  floor  lay  a  paper 
of  screws  and  hinges.  The  floor  was  still  bare,  to  be  sure,  and  so 
was  the  room,  but  yet  it  looked  hopeful  compared  with  the  morn- 
ing's condition.  Elizabeth  stood  opening  her  eyes  in  a  sort  of 
mazed  bewilderment ;  then  hearing  a  little  noise  of  hammering  in 
the  other  part  of  the  house,  she  turned  and  crossed  over  to  the 
east  room — her  sleeping-room  of  old  and  now.  She  went  within 
the  door  and  stood  fast. 

Her  feet  were  upon  a  green  carpet  which  covered  the  room. 
Round  about  were  more  of  the  maple  chairs,  looking  quite  hand- 
some on  their  green  footing.  There  was  a  decent  dressing-table 
and  chest  of  drawers  of  the  same  wood,  in  their  places ;  and  a 
round  mahogany  stand  which  seemed  to  be  meant  for  no  particu- 
lar place  but  to  do  duty  anywhere.  And  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  was  Winthrop,  with  Mrs.  Nettley  and  Clam  for  assistants, 


THE  HILLS   OE  THE  SHATEMTTC.  427 

busy  putting  up  a  bedstead.  He  looked  up  slightly  from  his 
work  when  Elizabeth  shewed  herself,  but  gave  her  no  further  at- 
tention. Clam  grinned.  Mrs.  Nettley  was  far  too  intent  upon 
holding  her  leg  of  the  bedstead  true  and  steady,  to  notice  or  know 
anything  else  whatever. 

Elizabeth  looked  for  a  moment,  without  being  able  to  utter  a 
word ;  and  then  turned  about  and  went  and  stood  at  the  open 
door,  her  breast  heaving  thick  and  her  eyes  too  full  to  see  a  thing 
before  her.  Then  she  heard  Winthrop  pass  behind  her  and  go 
into  the  other  room.  Elizabeth  followed  quickly.  He  had  stooped 
to  the  paper  of  screws,  but  stood  up  when  she  came  in,  to  speak  to 
her. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  having  so  carelessly  brought  you 
to  a  dismantled  house.  I  had  entirely  forgotterwfchat  it  was  so,  in 
this  degree, — though  I  suppose  I  must  at  some  time  have  heard  it." 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference, — "  said  Elizabeth,  and  said 
no  more. 

"  I  will  return  to  the  city  to-morrow,  and  send  you  up  imme- 
diately whatever  you  will  give  order  for.  It  can  be  here  in  a  very 
few  days." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  the  maple  chairs  and  the  mahogany  table, 
and  she  could  not  speak,  for  her  words  choked  her.  Winthrop 
stooped  again  to  his  paper  of  screws  and  hinges  and  began  turn- 
ing them  over. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  coming  a  step 
nearer. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  if  I  can  put  up  these  blinds  ?  " 

"Blinds!"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes. — I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  some  that  were  not  very 
far  from  the  breadth  of  the  windows.  They  were  too  long ;  and 
I  made  the  man  shorten  them.     I  think  they  will  do." 

"  What  did  you  take  all  that  trouble  for  ?  " 

"  It  was  no  trouble." 

"  Where  did  all  these  things  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Starlings — I  hadn't  to  go  any  further  than  that  for 
them." 

"  How  far  is  it  ?  " 

"  Twelve  miles." 

"  Twelve  miles  there  and  back !  " 

"  Makes  twenty-four." 

"  In  this  hot  day ! — I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Landholm !  " 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  he,  shouldering  one  of  the  green  blinds. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  put  those  on  yourself  ?  " 


428  THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMTJC. 

"  I  am  going  to  try — as  I  said." 

"  You  have  done  enough  day's  work,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Pray 
don't,  at  least  to-night.     It's  quite  late.     Please  don't !  —  " 

"  If  I  don't  to-night,  I  can't  to-morrow,"  said  Winthrop, 
marching  out.     "  I  must  go  home  to-morrow." 

Home  I  It  shook  Elizabeth's  heart  to  hear  him  speak  the 
old  word.  But  she  only  caught  her  breath  a  little,  and  then  spoke, 
following  him.  out  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

"  I  would  rather  they  were  not  put  up,  Mr.  Landholm.  I  can 
get  somebody  to  do  it." 

"  Not  unless  I  fail." 

"  It  troubles  me  very  much  that  you  should  have  such  a  day." 

"  I  have  had  just  such  a  day as  I  wanted,"  said  Winthrop, 

measuring  with  his  eye  and  rule  the  blind  and  the  window-frame 
respectively. 

"  Miss  'Ldzabeth,  Karen's  got  the  tea  all  ready,  she  says," 
Clam  announced  from  the  door ;  u  and  she  hopes  everybody's  tired 
of  waitin'." 

"  You've  not  had  tea  !  — "  exclaimed  Elizabeth.  "  Come  then, 
Mr.  Winthrop." 

"  Not  now,"  said  he,  driving  in  his  gimlet, — "  I  must  finish  this 
first.     *  The  night  cometh  wherein  no  man  can  work.'  " 

Elizabeth  shrank  inwardly,  and  struggled  with  herself. 

"  But  the  morning  comes  also,"  she  said. 

Winthrop's  eye  went  up  to  the  top  hinge  of  the  blind,  and  down 
to  the  lower  one,  and  up  to  the  top  again ;  busy  and  cool,  it  seemed 
to  consider  nothing  but  the  hinges.  Elizabeth  struggled  with 
herself  again.  She  was  mortified.  But  she  could  not  let  go  the 
matter. 

"  fray  leave  those  things !  "  she  said  in  another  minute.  "  Come 
in,  and  take  what  is  more  necessary." 

"  When  my  work  is  done,"  said  he.  "  Go  in,  Miss  Elizabeth. 
Karen  will  give  me  something  by  and  by." 

Elizabeth  turned ;  she  could  do  nothing  more  in  the  way  of 
persuasion.  As  she  set  her  foot  heavily  on  the  door-step,  she  saw 
Clam  standing  in  the  little  passage,  her  lips  slightly  parted  in  a 
satisfied  bit  of  a  smile.  Elizabeth  was  vexed,  proud,  and  vexed 
again,  in  as  many  successive  quarter  seconds.  Her  foot  was  heavy 
no  longer. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  do,  Clam  ?  " 

"  Lots,"  said  the  damsel. 

"  Why  aren't  you  about  it,  then  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  429 

"  I  was  waitin'  till  you  was  about  your'n,  Miss  'Lizabeth.  I 
like  folks  to  be  out  o'  my  way." 

"  Do  you !  Take  care  and  keep  out  of  mine,"  said  her  mis- 
tress.    "  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

u  Settle  your  bed,  Miss  'Lizabeth.  It's  good  we've  got  linen 
enough,  anyhow." 

"  Linen, — "  said  Elizabeth, — "  and  a  bedstead, — have  you  got 
a  bed  to  put  on  it  ?  " 

"  There's  been  care  took  for  that,"  said  Clam,  with  the  same 
satisfied  expression  and  a  little  turn  of  her  head. 

Half  aDgry  and  half  sick,  Elizabeth  left  her,  and  went  in 
through  her  new-furnished  keeping-room,  to  Karen's  apartment 
where  the  table  was  bountifully  spread  and  Mrs.  Nettley  and 
Karen  awaited  her  comiDg.     Elizabeth  silently  sat  down. 

"  Ain't  he  comin'  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  No — I  am  very  sorry — Mr.  Landholm  thinks  he  must 
finish  what  he  is  about  first." 

"  He  has  lots  o'  thoughts"  said  Karen  discontentedly, — "  he'd 
think  just  as  well  after  eatin'. — Well,  Miss — Karen's  done  her 
best — There's  been  worse  chickens  than  those  be — Mis'  Land- 
holm  used  to  cook  'em  that  way,  and  she  didn't  cook  'em 
no  better.  I  s'pose  he'll  eat  some  by'm  by — when  he's  done 
thinkin'." 

She  went  off,  and  Elizabeth  was  punctually  and  silently  taken 
care  of  by  Mrs.  Nettley.  The  meal  over,  she  did  not  go  back  to 
her  own  premises ;  but  took  a  stand  in  the  open  kitchen  door,  for 
a  variety  of  reasons,  and  stood  there,  looking  alternately  out  and 
in.  The  sun  had  set,  the  darkness  was  slowly  gathering;  soft 
purple  clouds  floated  up  from  the  west,  over  Wut-a-qut-o's  head, 
which  however  the  nearer  heads  of  pines  and  cedars  prevented 
her  seeing.  A  delicate  fringe  of  evergreen  foliage  edged  upon 
the*  cleaif  white  sky.  The  fresher  evening  air  breathed  through 
the  pine  and  cedar  branches,  hardly  stirred  their  stiff  leaves,  but 
brought  from  them  tokens  of  rare  sweetness ;  brought  them  to 
Elizabeth's  sorrowful  face,  and  passed  on.  Elizabeth  turned  her 
face  from  the  wind  and  looked  into  the  house.  Karen  had  made 
her  appearance  again,  and  was  diligently  taking  away  broken 
meats  and  soiled  dishes  and  refreshing  the  look  of  the  table ;  set- 
ting some  things  to  warm  and  some  things  to  cool ;  giving  the  spare 
plate  and  knife  and  fork  the  advantage  of  the  best  place  at  table ; 
brushing  away  crumbs,  and  smoothing  down  the  salt-cellar. 
"  You  are  over  particular  !  "  thought  Elizabeth  ; — "  it  would  do 
him  no  harm  to  come  after  me  in  handling  the  salt-spoon  ! — that 


430  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC. 


even  that  trace  of  me  should  be  removed."     She  looked  out 
again. 

Her  friend  the  locust  now  and  then  was  reminding  her  of  the 
long  hot  day  they  had  passed  through  together ;  and  the  intervals 
between  were  filled  up  by  a  chorus  of  grasshoppers  and  crickets 
and  katydids.  Soft  and  sweet  blew  the  west  wind  again ;  that 
spoke  not  of  the  bygone  day,  with  its  burden  and  heat ;  but  of 
rest,  and  repose,  and  the  change  that  cometh  even  to  sorrowful 
things.  The  day  was  passed  and  gone.  "  But  if  one  day  is 
passed,  another  is  coming," — thought  Elizabeth ;  and  tears,  hot 
and  bitter  tears,  sprang  to  her  eyes.  How  could  those  clouds 
float  so  softly ! — how  could  the  light  and  shadow  rest  so  lovely  on 
them  ! — how  could  the  blue  ether  look  so  still  and  clear !  "  Can 
one  be  like  that  ?  "—thought  Elizabeth.  "  Can  I  ?— with  this 
boiling  depth  of  passion  and  will  in  my  nature  ? — One  can — "  and 
she  again  turned  her  eyes  within.  But  nothing  was  there,  save 
the  table,  the  supper,  and  Karen.  The  question  arose,  what  she 
herself  was  standing  there  for  ?  but  passion  and  will  said  they 
did  not  care  !  she  would  stand  there ;  and  she  did.  It  was  pleasant 
to  stand  there ;  for  passion  and  will,  though  they  had  their  way, 
seemed  to  her  feeling  to  be  quieted  down  under  nature's  in- 
fluences. Perhaps  the  most  prominent  thought  now  was  of  a 
great  discord  between  nature  and  her,  between  her  and  right, — 
which  was  to  be  made  up.  But  still,  while  her  face  was  towards 
the  western  sky  and  soft  wind,  and  her  mind  thought  this,  her 
ear  listened  for  a  step  on  the  kitchen  floor.  The  colours  of  the 
western  sky  had  grown  graver  and  cooler  before  it  came. 

It  came,  and  there  was  the  scrape  of  a  chair  on  the  wooden 
floor.  He  had  sat  down,  and  Karen  had  got  up ;  but  Elizabeth 
would  not  look  in. 

"  Are  ye  hungry  enough  now,  Governor  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  Karen, — for  your  sake." 

"  Ye  don't  care  muchfor  your  own,"  said  Karen  discontentedly. 

Perhaps  Winthrop — perhaps  Elizabeth,  thought  that  she 
made  up  his  lack  of  it.  Elizabeth  watched,  stealthily,  to  see  how 
the  old  woman  waited  upon  him — hovered  about  him — supplied^ 
his  wants,  actual  and  possible,  and  stood  looking  at  him  when  she 
could  do  nothing  else.  She  could  not  understand  the  low  word 
or  two  with  which  Winthrop  now  and  then  rewarded  her.  Bitter 
feeling  overcame  her  at  last ;  she  turned  away,  too  much  out  of 
tune  with  nature  to  notice  any  more,  unless  by  way  of  contrast, 
what  nature  had  spread  about  her  and  over  her.  She  went  round 
the  house  again  to  the  front  and  sat  down  in  the  doorway.     The 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  431 

stars  were  out,  the  moonlight  lay  soft  on  the  water,  the  dews  fell 
heavily. 

"  Miss  Lizzie  ! — you'll  catch  seven  deaths  out  there ! — the 
day's  bad  enough,  but  the  night's  five  times  worse^" — Clam  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  shan't  catch  but  one,"  Elizabeth  said  gloomily. 

"  Your  muslin's  all  wet,  drinchin' !  " 

"  It  will  dry." 

"  I  can  hang  it  up,  I  s'pose ;  but  what  '11 1  do  with  you  if 
you  get  sick  ?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever  !     Let  me  alone,  Clam." 

"  Mis'  Nettles  ! — "  said  Clam  going  in  towards  the  kitchen, 
— "  Mis'  Nettles ! — where's  Mr.  Landholm  ? — Governor  Winthrop 
— here's  Miss  'Lizabeth  unhookin'  all  them  blinds  you've  been  a 
hookin'  up." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Clam  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  no  harm,"  said  Clam  loweiing  her  tone, — 
"  but  Miss  'Lizabeth  does.  I  wish  you  would  go  and  see  what 
she  is  doing,  Mr.  Winthrop ;  she's  makin'  work  for  somebody ; 
and  if  it  ain't  nobody  else,  it's  the  doctor." 

Winthrop  however  sat  still,  and  Clam  departed  in  ignorance 
how  he  had  received  her  information.  Presently  however  his 
supper  was  finished,  and  he  sauntered  round  to  the  front  of  the 
house.     He  paused  before  the  doorway  where  its  mistress  sat. 

"  It  is  too  damp  for  you  there." 

"  I  don't  feel  it." 

"  I  do." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  it." 

"  If  the  fact  were  according  to  your  fears,  that  would  be  a 
sufficient  answer." 

"  It  will  do  me  no  harm." 

"  It  must  not ;  and  that  it  may  not,  you  must  go  in,"  he  said 
gravely. 

"  But  you  are  out  in  it,"  said  Elizabeth,  who  was  possessed 
with  an  uncompromising  spirit  just  then. 

"  I  am  out  in  it.     Well  ?  " 

"  Only — that  I  may  venture — "  she  did  not  like  to  finish  her 
sentence. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  venture  anything  ?  " 

"  The  same  right  that  other  people  have." 
"  I  risk  nothing,"  said  he  gravely. 

"  I  haven't  much  to  risk." 
"  You  may  risk  your  life." 


432  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  My  life  !  "  said  Elizabeth.  ■  What  does  it  signify  !— "  But 
she  jumped  up  and  ran  into  the  house. 

The  next  morning  there  was  an  early  breakfast,  for  which 
Elizabeth  was  ready.  Then  Winthrop  took  her  directions  for 
things  to  be  forwarded  from  Mannahatta.  Then  there  was  a  quiet 
leave-taking ;  on  his  part  kind  and  cool,  on  hers  too  full  of  im- 
passioned feeling  to  be  guarded  or  constrained.  But  there  was 
reason  and  excuse  enough  for  that,  as  she  knew,  or  guard  and 
restraint  would  both  have  been  there.  When  she  quitted  his 
hand,  it  was  to  hide  herself  in  her  room  and  have  one  struggle 
with  the  feeling  of  desolation.     It  was  a  long  one. 

Elizabeth  came  out  at  last,  book  in  hand. 

"  Dear  Miss  Haye  !  "  Mrs.  Nettley  exclaimed — "  you're  dread- 
ful worn  with  this  hot  weather  and  being  out  of  doors  all  day 
yesterday !  " 

"  I  am  going  out  again,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Clam  will  know 
where  to  find  me." 

"  If  you  had  wings,  I'd  know  where  to  find  you,"  said  Clam  ; 
"  but  on  your  feet  'taint  so  certain." 

"  You  needn't  try,  unless  it  is  necessary,"  said  Elizabeth 
dryly. 

"  But  dear  Miss  Haye  !  "  pleaded  Mrs.  Nettley, — "  you're  not 
surely  going  out  to  try  the  sun  again  to-day  ?  " 

Elizabeth's  lip  quivered. 

"  It's  the  pleasantest  place,  Mrs.  Nettley — I  am  quite  in  the 
shade — I  can't  be  better  than  I  am  there,  thank  you." 

"  Don't  she  look  dreadful !  "  said  the  good  lady,  as  Elizabeth 
went  from  the  house.  w  Oh,  I  never  have  seen  anybody  so 
changed  !  " 

"  She's  pulled  down  a  bit  since  she  come,"  said  Karen,  who 
gave  Elizabeth  but  a  moderate  share  of  her  good  will  at  any 
time.  "  She's  got  her  mind  up  high  enough,  anyway,  for  all  she's 
gone  through." 

"  Who  hain't  ?  "  said  Clam.  "  Hain't  the  Governor  his 
mind  up  high  enough  ?  And  you  can't  pull  him  down,  but  you 
can  her." 

"  His  don't  never  need,"  said  Karen. 

"  Well — I  don'  know, — "  said  Clam,  picking  up  several 
things  about  the  floor — "  but  them  high  minds  is  a  trial." 

"  Hain't  you  got  one  yourself,  girl  ?  "  said  old  Karen. 

"Hope  so,  ma'am.  I  take  after  my  admirers.  That's  all  the 
way  I  live, — keeping  my  heud  up — always  did." 

Karen  deigned  no  reply,  but  went  off.. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  433 

"  Mis'  Nettles,"  said  Clam,  "  do  you  think  Miss  Haye  '11 
ever  stand  it  up  here  all  alone  in  this  here  place  ?  " 

"Why  not  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nettley  innocently. 

"  I  guess  your  head  ain't  high  enough  up  for  to  see  her'n,"  said 
Clam,  in  scornful  impatience.  And  she  too  quitted  the  conversa- 
tion in  disgust. 


19 


OHAPTEE   XXXVIII. 

'  Resolve,'  the  haughty  moralist  would  say, 
4  The  single  act  is  all  that  we  demand.' 
Alas  1  such  wisdom  bids  a  creature  fly 
Whose  very  sorrow  is,  that  time  hath  shorn 
His  natural  wings.  Wokdswoeth. 

The  book  in  Elizabeth's  band  was  ber  bible.  It  was  tbe  next 
thing,  and  the  only  thing  to  be  done  after  Winthrop's  going  away, 
that  she  could  think  of,  to  begin  upon  the  first  chapter  of  Mat- 
thew. It  was  action,  and  she  craved  action.  It  was  an  under- 
taking; for  her  mind  remembered  and  laid  hold  of  Winthrop's 
words — "  Ask  honestly,  of  your  own  conscience  and  of  God,  at 
each  step,  what  obligation  upon  you  grows  out  of  what  you  read." 
And  it  was  an  undertaking  that  Winthrop  had  set  her  upon.  So 
she  sought  out  her  yesterday's  couch  of  moss  with  its  cedar  canopy, 
and  sat  down  in  very  different  mood  from  yesterday's  mood,  and 
put  her  bible  on  her  lap.  It  was  a  feeling  of  dull  passive  pain 
now ;  a  mood  that  did  not  want  to  sleep. 

The  day  itself  was  very  like  yesterday.  Elizabeth  listened 
a  minute  to  the  sparrow  and  the  locust  and  the  summer  wind,  but 
presently  she  felt  that  they  were  overcoming  her ;  and  she  opened 
her  book  to  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew.  She  was  very  curious 
to  find  her  first  obligation.  Not  that  she  was  unconscious  of 
many  resting  upon  her  already ;  but  those  were  vague,  old,  dimly 
recognized  obligations ;  she  meant  to  take  them  up  now  definitely, 
in  the  order  in  which  they  might  come. 

She  half  paused  at  the  name  in  the  first  verse, — was  there  not 
a  shadow  of  obligation  hanging  around  that  ?  But  if  there  were, 
she  would  find  it  more  clearly  set  forth  and  in  detail  as  she  went 
on.     She  passed  it  for  the  present. 

From  that  she  went  on  smoothly  as  far  as  the  twenty-first 
verse.     That  stopped  her. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  435 

"  And  she  shall  hring  forth  a  son  ;  and  thou  shalt  call  his  name  Jesus  ;  for 
he  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins." 

"  '  His  people? — "  thought  Elizabeth.  "  I  am  not  one  of  his 
people.     Ought  I  not  to  be  ?  " 

The  words  of  the  passage  did  not  say ;  but  an  imperative 
whisper  at  her  heart  said  "  Ay  !  " 

"  His  people .' — but  how  can  I  be  one  of  his  people  ?  "  she 
thought  again.  And  impatience  bade  her  turn  over  the  leaf,  and 
find  something  more  or  something  else;  but  conscience  said,  "  Stop 
— and  deal  with  this  obligation  first." 

"  What  obligation  ? — '  He  shall  save  his  people  from  their 
sins.1  Then  certainly  I  ought  to  let  him  save  me  from  mine — that 
is  the  least  I  can  do.  But  what  is  the  first  thing — the  first  step 
to  be  taken?     I  wish  Mr.  Landholm  was  here  to  tell  me. — " 

She  allowed  herself  to  read  on  to  the  end  of  the  page,  but  that 
gave  her  not  much  additional  light.  She  would  not  turn  over  the 
leaf;  she  had  no  business  with  the  second  obligation  till  the  first 
was  mastered ;  she  sat  looking  at  the  words  in  a  sort  of  impatient 
puzzle ;  and  not  permitting  herself  to  look  forward,  she  turned 
back  a  leaf.  That  gave  her  but  the  titlepage  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. She  turned  back  another,  to  the  last  chapter  of  the  Old. 
Its  opening  words  caught  her  eye. 

"  For  hehold,  the  day  cometh  that  shall  hum  as  an  oven  ;  and  all  the 
proud,  yea,  and  all  that  do  wickedly,  shall  be  stubble;  and  the  day  that 
cometh  shall  burn  them  up,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  that  it  shall  leave  them 
neither  root  nor  branch." 

"  The  proud,  and  they  that  do  wickedly — that  is  my  character 
and  name  truly, '  thought  Elizabeth.  "  I  am  of  them. — And  it  is 
from  this,  and  this  fate,  that  *  his  people  '  shall  be  delivered.  But 
how  shall  I  get  to  be  of  them  ?  "  Her  eye  glanced  restlessly  up 
to  the  next  words,  above — 

"  Then  shall  ye  return  and  discern  between  the  righteous  and  the  wicked, 
between  him  that  serveth  God  and  him  that  serveth  him  not." 

"  \  Then? — in  that  day," — thought  Elizabeth,  "  I  can  discern 
between  them  now,  without  waiting  for  that. — Winthrop  Landholm 
is  one  that  serveth  Grod — I  am  one  that  serve  him  not.  There 
is  difference  enough,  I  can  see  now — but  this  speaks  of  the  differ- 
ence at  that  day ;  another  sort  of  difference. — Then  I  ought  to  be 
a  servant  of  God " 

The  obligation  was  pretty  plain. 

"  Well,  I  will,  when  I  find  out  how," — she  began.  But  con- 
science checked  her. 


436  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SnATEMUC. 

"  This  is  not  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew,'  she  said  then. 
"  I  will  go  back  to  that." 

Her  eye  fell  lower,  to  the  words. 

"  But  unto  you  that  fear  my  name  shall  the  Sun  of  Kighteousness  ariso 
with  healing  in  his  wings." 

The  tears  started  to  Elizabeth's  eyes.  "  This  is  that  same  who 
will  save  his  people  from  their  sins, — is  it  ? — and  that  is  his  healing  ? 
Oh,  I  want  it ! — There  is  too  much  difference  between  me  and 
them.  He  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins, — I  have  plenty, 
— plenty.  But  how  ? — and  what  shall  I  do  ?  It  don't  tell  me 
here." 

It  did  not ;  yet  Elizabeth  could  not  pass  on.  She  was  honest ; 
she  felt  an  obligation,  arising  from  these  words,  which  yet  she  did 
not  at  once  recognize.  It  stayed  her.  She  must  do  something — 
what  could  she  do  ?  It  was  a  most  unwelcome  answer  that  at  last 
slid  itself  into  her  mind.  Ask  to  be  made  one  of '  his  people ' — or 
to  be  taught  how  to  become  one  ?  Her  very  soul  started.  Aih  ? 
— but  now  the  obligation  stood  full  and  strong  before  her,  and  she 
could  cease  to  see  it  no  more.  Ash? — why  she  never  did  such  a 
thing  m  her  whole  life  as  ask  God  to  do  anything  for  her.  Not  of 
her  own  mind,  at  her  own  choice,  and  in  simplicity ;  her  thoughts 
and  feelings  had  perhaps  at  some  time  joined  in  prayers  made  by 
another,  and  in  church,  and  in  solemn  time.  But  here  ?  with  the 
blue  sky  over  her,  in  broad  day,  and  in  open  air  ?  It  did  not  seem 
like  praying  time.  Elizabeth  shut  her  book.  Her  heart  beat. 
Duty  and  she  were  at  a  struggle  now ;  she  knew  which  must  give 
way,  but  she  was  not  ready  yet.  It  never  entered  her  head  to 
question  the  power  or  the  will  to  which  she  must  apply  herself,  no 
more  than  if  she  had  been  a  child.  Herself  she  doubted ;  she 
doubted  not  him.  Elizabeth  knew  very  little  of  his  works  or 
word,  beyond  a  vague  general  outline,  got  from  sermons ;  but  she 
knew  one  servant  of  God.  That  servant  glorified  him ;  and  in  the 
light  which  she  saw  and  loved,  Elizabeth  could  do  no  other  but, 
in  her  measure,  to  glorify  him  too.  She  did  not  doubt,  but  she 
hesitated,  and  trembled.  The  song  of  the  birds  and  the  flow  of 
the  water  mocked  her  hesitancy  and  difficulty.  But  Elizabeth 
was  honest;  and  though  she  trembled  she  would  not  and  could  not 
disobey  the  voice  of  conscience  which  set  before  her  one  clear, 
plain  duty.  She  was  in  great  doubt  whether  to  stand  or  to  kneel ; 
she  was  afraid  of  being  seen  if  she  knelt ;  she  would  not  be  so 
irreverent  as  to  pray  sitting ;  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  clasping  a 
cedar  tree  with  her  arms,  she  leaned  her  head  beside  the  trunk, 
and  whispered  her  prayer,  to  him  who  saves  his  people  from 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  437 

their  sins,  that  he  would  make  her  one  of  them  7  she  cLd  not  know 
how,  she  confessed ;  she  prayed  that  he  would  teach  her. 

She  kept  her  position  and  did  not  move  her  bended  head,  till 
the  tears  which  had  gathered  were  fallen  or  dried ;  then  she  sat 
down  and  took  up  her  book  again  and  looked  down  into  the  water. 
What  had  she  done  ?  Entered  a  pledge,  she  felt,  to  be  what  she 
had  prayed  to  be ;  else  her  prayer  would  be  but  a  mockery,  and 
Elizabeth  was  in  earnest.  "  What  a  full-grown  fair  specimen  he 
is  of  his  class,"  she  thought,  her  mind  recurring  again  to  her  ad- 
viser and  exemplar ;  "  and  I — a  poor  ignorant  thing  in  the  dark, 
groping  for  a  bit  of  light  to  begin  !  " — The  tears  gathered  again ; 
she  opened  the  second  chapter  of  Matthew. 

She  looked  off  again  to  feel  glad.  Was  a  pledge  entered  only 
on  her  side  ? — was  there  not  an  assurance  given  somewhere,  by 
lips  that  cannot  lie,  that  prayer  earnestly  offered  should  not  be  in 
vain  ?  She  could  not  recal  the  words,  but  she  was  sure  of  the 
thing ;  and  there  was  more  than  one  throb  of  pleasure,  and  a  tiny 
shoot  of  grateful  feeling  in  her  heart,  before  Elizabeth  went  back 
to  her  book.  What  was  the  next  *  obligation '  ?  She  was  all 
ready  for  it. 

Nothing  stopped  her  much  in  the  second  chapter.  The  c  next 
obligation '  did  not  start  up  till  the  words  of  John  the  Baptist  in 
the  beginning  of  the  third — 

"  Repent  ye,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand." 

"  What  is  repentance  ? — and  what  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  " 
pondered  Elizabeth.  "I  wish  somebody  was  here  to  tell  iuj. 
Repent  ? — I  know  what  it  is  to  repent — it  is  to  change  one's  mind 
about  something,  and  t.)  will  just  against  what  one  willed  before. 
— And  what  ought  I  to  repent  about  ? — Everything  wrong !  Every- 
thing wrong  ! — That  is,  to  turn  about  and  set  my  face  just  the 
other  way  from  what  it  has  been  all  my  life  ! — I  might  as  good 
take  hold  of  this  moving  earth  with  my  two  fingers  and  give  it  a 
twist  to  go  westwards. " 

Elizabeth  shut  up  her  book,  and  laid  it  on  the  moss  beside 
her. 

"  Repent  ? — yes,  it's  an  obligation.  Oh  what  shall  I  do 
with  it !— " 

She  would  have  liked  to  do  with  it  as  she  did  with  her  head — 
lay  it  down. 

"  These  wrong  things  are  iron-strong  in  me — how  can  I  un- 
screw them  from  their  fastenings,  and  change  all  the  out-goings 
and  in-comings  of  my  mind  ? — when  the  very  hands  that  must  do 


438  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC. 

the  work  have  a  bent  the  wrong  way.  How  can  I  ? — I  am  strong 
for  evil — I  am  weak  as  a  child  for  good." 

"  I  will  try  !  "  she  said  the  next  instant,  lifting  her  head  up — 
"  I  will  try  to  do  what  I  can. — But  that  is  not  changing  my  whole 
inner  way  of  feeling — that  is  not  repenting.  Perhaps  it  will 
come.  Or  is  this  determination  of  mine  to  try,  the  beginning  of 
it  ?  I  do  not  know  that  it  is — I  cannot  be  sure  that  it  is.  No — 
one  might  wish  to  be  a  good  lawyer,  without  at  all  being  willing  to 
go  through  all  the  labour  and  pains  for  it  which  Winthrop  Land- 
holm  has  taken. — No,  this  is  not,  or  it  may  not  be,  repentance — 
I  cannot  be  sure  that  it  is  anything.  But  will  it  not  come  ?  or 
how  can  I  get  it  ?  How  alone  I  am  from  all  counsel  and  help  ! 
— Still  it  must  be  my  duty  to  try — to  try  to  do  particular  things 
right,  as  they  come  up,  even  though  I  cannot  feel  right  all  at  once. 
And  if  I  try,  won't  the  help  come,  and  the  knowledge  ? — What  a 
confusion  it  is  !  In  the  midst  of  it  all  it  is  my  duty  to  repent, 
and  I  haven't  the  least  idea  how  to  set  about  it,  and  I  can't  do  it ! 
0  I  wish  Winthrop  Landholm  was  here  ! " 

Elizabeth  pondered  the  matter  a  good  deal;  and  the  more  she 
thought  about  it,  the  worse  the  confusion  grew.  The  duty  seemed 
more  imminent,  the  difficulty  more  obstinate.  She  was  driven  at 
last,  unwillingly  again,  to  her  former  resource — what  she  could 
not  give  herself,  to  ask  to  have  given  her.  She  did  it,  with  tears 
again,  that  were  wrung  from  breaking  pride  and  weary  wishing. 
More  quietly  then  she  resolved  to  lay  off  perplexing  care,  and  to 
strive  to  meet  the  moment's  duty,  as  it  arose.  And  by  this  time 
with  a  very  humbled  and  quieted  brow,  she  went  on  with  her  chapter. 
The  words  of  the  next  verse  caught  her  eye  and  her  mind  at  once. 

"  For  this  is  he  that  was  spoken  of  by  the  prophet  Esaias,  saying,  The 
voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,  prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord,  make  his 
paths  straight." 

"  Is  not  this  it  ?  "  cried  Elizabeth.  "  If  I  do  my  part— all  I 
can — is  not  that  preparing  the  way  for  him  to  do  what  I  cannot 
do?" 

She  thought  so,  at  any  rate,  and  it  comforted  her. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  said  Clam,  just  behind  her,  "  Karen  wants 
to  know  what  time  you'll  have  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care." 

"  That's  'zackly  Karen's  time  o'  day,"  said  Clam  discontent- 
edly. 

"  I  don't  care  at  all,  Clam." 

"  And  she  says,  what  '11  you  have  ?  " 

"  Nothing — or  anything.     Don't  talk  to  me  about  it." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE    SHATEMUC.  439 

"  Ain't  much  good  in  choosing,"  said  Clam,  "  when  there  ain't 
three  things  to  choose  from.  How  long  can  you  live  on  pork, 
Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

Elizabeth  looked  up  impatiently. 

"  Longer  than  you  can.     Clam  ! — " 

"  Ma'am  ?  " 

"  Let  me  alone.     I  don't  care  about  anything." 

Clam  went  off ;  but  ten  minutes  had  not  gone  when  she  was 
back  again. 

"  Miss  Lizzie, — Anderese  wants  to  know  if  he'll  go  on  cuttin1 
wood  just  as  he's  a  mind  to  ?" 

11  Anderese  ? — who's  he  ?  " 

"  Karen  and  him  used  to  be  brother  and  sister  when  they  was 
little." 

"  What  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  Wants  to  know  if  he  shall  go  on  cuttin'  wood  just  as  ever." 

"  Cutting  wood  ! — what  wood  ?  " 

"  I  s'pect  it's  your  trees." 

"Mine!     What  trees?" 

"  Why  the  trees  in  the  woods,  Miss  Lizzie.  As  long  as  they 
was  nobody's,  Anderese  used  to  cut  'em  for  the  fire;  now  they're 
yourn,  he  wants  to  know  what  he  shall  do  with  'em." 

"  Let  'em  alone,  certainly !     Don't  let  him  cut  any  more.  ' 

"  Then  the  next  question  is,  where'll  he  go  for  something  to 
make  a  fire  ?  " 

"  To  make  a  fire  !  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Lizzie — unless  no  time  '11  do  for  dinner  as  well  as 
any  time.  Can't  cook  pork  without  a  fire.  And  then  you'd 
want  the  kettle  boiled  for  tea,  I  reckon." 

"  Can't  he  get  wood  anywhere,  Clam  ?  without  cutting  down 
trees.' 

"  There  ain't  none  to  sell  anywheres — he  says." 

"  What  trees  has  he  been  cutting  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  rousing 
herself  in  despair. 

"  Any  that  come  handy,  I  s'pose,  Miss  Lizzie — they'll  all 
burn,  once  get  'em  in  the  chimney." 

"  He  mustn't  do  that.  Tell  him — but  you  can't  tell  him — 
and  I  can't.- " 

She  hesitated,  between  the  intense  desire  to  bid  him  cut 
whatever  he  had  a  mind,  and  the  notion  of  attending  to  all  her 
duties,  which  was  strong  upon  her. 

"  Tell  him  to  cut  anything  he  pleases,  for  to-day — I'll  see 
about  it  myself  the  next  time." 


440  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC. 

Two  minutes'  peace ;  and  then  Clam  was  at  her  back  again. 

"  Miss  Lizzie,  he  don't  know  nothin'  and  he  wants  to  know  a 
heap.  Do  you  want  him  to  cut  down  a  cedar,  he  says,  or  an  oak, 
or  somethin'  else.  There's  the  most  cedars,  he  says ;  but  Karen 
says  they  snap  all  to  pieces." 

Elizabeth  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  find  a  tree  in  a  minute  that  he  can  cut 
without  doing  any  harm. — Bring  me  a  parasol,  Clam, — and  come 
along  with  me." 

Clam  and  the  parasol  came  out  at  one  door,  and  Anderese  and 
his  axe  at  another,  as  Elizabeth  slowly  paced  towards  the  house. 
The  three  joined  company.  Anderese  was  an  old  grey-haired 
negro,  many  years  younger  however  than  his  sister.  Elizabeth 
asked  him,  "  Which  way  ?  " 

"  Which  way  the  young  lady  pleases." 

"I  don't  please  about  it,"  said  Elizabeth, — "I  don't  know 
anything  about  it — lead  to  the  nearest  place — where  a  tree  can 
be  soonest  found." 

The  old  man  shouldered  his  axe  and  went  before,  presently 
entering  a  little  wood  path ;  of  which  many  struck  off  into  the 
leafy  wilderness  which  bordered  the  house.  Leaves  overhead, 
rock  and  moss  under  foot ;  a  winding,  jagged,  up  and  down,  stony, 
and  soft  green  way,  sometimes  the  one,  sometimes  the  other. 
Elizabeth's  bible  was  still  in  her  hand,  her  finger  still  kept  it 
open  at  the  second  chapter  of  Matthew;  she  went  musingly  along 
over  grey  lichens  and  sunny  green  beds  of  moss,  thinking  of  many 
things.  How  she  was  wandering  in  Winthrop's  old  haunts,  where 
the  trees  had  once  upon  a  time  been  cut  by  him,  she  now  to  order 
the  cutting  of  the  fellow  trees.  Strange  it  was !  How  she  was 
desolate  and  alone,  nobody  but  herself  there  to  do  it ;  her  father 
gone ;  and  she  without  another  protector  or  friend  to  care  for  the 
trees  or  her  either,  There  were  times  when  the  weight  of  pain, 
like  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere,  seemed  so  equally  distributed 
that  it  was  distinctly  felt  nowhere, — or  else  so  mighty  that  the 
nerves  of  feeling  were  benumbed.  Elizabeth  wandered  along  in 
a  kind  of  maze,  half  wondering  half  indignant  at  herself  that  she 
could  walk  and  think  at  all.  She  did  not  execute  much  thinking, 
to  do  her  justice ;  she  passed  through  the  sweet  broken  sunlight 
and  still  shadows,  among  the  rough  trunks  of  the  cedars,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  scenery  of  dreamland.  On  every  hand  were  up- 
shooting  young  pines,  struggling  oaks  that  were  caught  in  thick- 
ets of  cedar,  and  ashes  and  elms  that  were  humbly  asking  leave 
to  spread  and  see  the  light  and  reach  their  heads  up  to  freedom 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC.  441 

and  free  air.  They  asked  in  vain.  Elizabeth  was  only  conscious 
of  the  struggling  hopes  and  wishes  that  seemed  crushed  for  ever, 
her  own. 

"  She  don't  see  nothing"  whispered  Clam  to  Anderese,  whom 
she  had  joined  in  front.  "  She's  lookm'  into  vacancy.  If  you 
don't  stop,  our  axe  and  parasol  '11  walk  all  round  the  place,  and 
one  '11  do  as  much  work  as  the  other.  I  can't  put  up  my  awning 
till  you  cut  down  something  to  let  the  sun  in." 

The  old  man  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  at  his  young 
lady. 

"  What  be  I  goin'  to  do  ?  "  he  whispered,  with  a  sidelong 
glance  at  Clam. 

"  Fling  your  axe  into  something,"  said  Clam.  "  That'll  bring 
her  up." 

The  old  man  presently  stepped  aside  to  a  young  sapling  oak, 
which  having  outgrown  its  strength  bent  its  slim  altitude  in  a  beau- 
tiful parabolic  curve  athwart  the  sturdy  stems  of  cedars  and  yel- 
low pines  which  lined  the  path.  Anderese  stopped  ihcre  and 
looked  at  Elizabeth.  She  had  stopped  too,  without  noticing  him, 
and  stood  sending  an  intent,  fixed,  far-going  look  into  the  pretty 
wilderness  of  rock  and  wood  on  the  other  side  of  the  way.  All 
three  stood  sihntly. 

"  Will  this  do  to  come  down,  young  lady  ?  "  inquired  Ander- 
ese, with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder.     Elizabeth  faced  about. 

"  'Twon't  grow  up  to  make  a  good  tree — it's  slantin'  off  so 
among  the  others."     He  brought  his  axe  down. 

"  That  $  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  that  reaching-over  one  ?  0  no  • 
you  mustn't  touch  that.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  an  oak,  miss ;  it's  good  wood." 

"  It's  a  better  tree.  No  indeed — leave  that.  Never  cut  such 
trees.     Won't  some  of  those  old  things  do  ?  " 

"  Them  ? — them  are  cedars,  young  lady." 

"  Well,  won't  they  do  ?  " 

"  They'd  fly  all  over  and  burn  the  house  up,"  said  Clam. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  Some  o'  tfre  best  there  is,  I  guess,"  said  Clam. 

"  Hard  wood  is  the  best,  young  lady." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Oak — maple — hickory — and  there's  ash,  and  birch — 'tain't 
very  good." 

Elizabeth  sighed,  and  led  the  way  on  again,  while  the  old 
negro  shouldered  his  axe  and  followed  with   Clam;    probably 


442  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

sighing  on  his  own  part,  if  habitual  gentleness  of  spirit  did  nol 
prevent.     Nobody  ever  knew  Clam  do  such  a  thing. 

"  Look  at  her  !  "  muttered  the  damsel ; — "  going  with  her 
head  down, — when'll  she  see  a  tree  ?  Ain't  we  on  a  march  1 
Miss  'Lizabeth  ! — the  tree  won't  walk  home  after  it's  cut." 

"  What  ?  "  said  her  mistress. 

"  How'll  it  get  there  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  The  tree,  Miss  Lizzie — when  Anderese  has  cut  it." 

"  Can't  he  carry  some  home  ?  " 

"  He'll  be  a  good  while  about  it — if  he  takes  one  stick  at  a 
time — and  we  ain't  nigh  home,  neither." 

Elizabeth  came  to  a  stand,  and  finally  turned  in  another  di- 
rection, homewards.  »But  she  broke  from  the  path  then,  and  took 
up  the  quest  in  earnest,  leading  her  panting  followers  over  rocks 
and  moss-beds  and  fallen  cedars  and  tangled  vines  and  under- 
growth, which  in  many  places  hindered  their  way.  She  found 
trees  enough  at  last,  and  near  enough  home ;  but  both  she  and 
her  companions  had  had  tree-hunting  to  their  satisfaction.  Eliza* 
beth  commissioned  Anderese  to  find  fuel  in  another  way ;  and 
herself  in  some  disgust  at  her  new  charge,  returned  to  her  rock 
and  her  bible.  She  tried  to  go  through  with  the  third  chapter 
of  Matthew ;  and  her  eye  did  go  over  it,  though  often  swimming 
in  tears.  But  that  was  the  end  of  her  studies  at  that  time. 
Sorrow  claimed  the  rest  of  the  day  for  its  own,  and  held  the 
whole  ground.  Her  household  and  its  perplexities — her  bible 
and  its  teachings — her  ignorance  and  her  necessities, — faded 
away  from  view ;  and  instead  thereof  rose  up  the  lost  father,  the 
lost  home,  and  the  lost  friend  yet  dearer  than  all. 

"  What's  become  of  Miss  Haye  ?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Nettley 
late  in  the  evening 

"  Doii'  know,'  answered  Clara.  "  Melted  away — all  that  can 
melt,  an<f  shaken  down — all  that  can  shake,  of  her.  That  ain't 
all,  so  I  s'pose  there's  somethin'  left." 

"  Poor  thing! — no  wonder  she  takes  it  hard,"  said  the  good 
lady. 

"  No,"  said  Clam, — "  she  never  did  take  nothin'  easy." 

"  Has  she  been  crying  all  the  afternoon  ?" 

il  Don'  know,"  said  Clam;  "  the  eye  of  curiosity  ain't  invited; 
out  she  don't  take  that  easy  neither,  when  she's  about  it.  I've 
seen  her  cry — once ;  she'd  do  a  year  o'  your  crying  in  half  an 
hour. " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 


0  Land  of  Quiet!  to  thy  shore  the  surf 
Of  the  perturbed  Present  rolls  and  sleeps; 
Our  storms  breathe  soft  as  June  upon  thy  turf, 
And  lure  out  blossoms. 

Lowell. 


They  were  days  of  violent  grief  which  for  a  little  while  fol- 
lowed each  other.  Elizabeth  spent  them  out  of  doors ;  in  the 
woods,  on  the  rocks,  by  the  water's  edge.  She  would  take  her 
bible  out  with  her,  and  sometimes  try  to  read  a  little ;  but  a  very 
few  words  would  generally  touch  some  spring  which  set  her  off 
upon  a  torrent  of  sorrow.  Pleasant  things  past  or  out  of  her 
reach,  the  present  time  a  blank,  the  future  worse  than  a  blank, — 
she  knew  nothing  else.  She  did  often  in  her  distress  repeat  the 
prayer  she  had  made  over  the  first  chapter  of  Matthew ;  but  that 
was  rather  the  fruit  of  past  thought ;  she  did  not  think  in  those 
days ;  she  gave  up  to  feeling ;  and  the  hours  were  a  change  from 
bitter  and  violent  sorrow  to  dull  and  listless  quiet.  Conscience 
sometimes  spoke  of  duties  resolved  upon ;  impatient  pain  always- 
answered  that  their  time  was  not  now. 

The  first  thing  that  roused  her  was  a  little  letter  from  Win- 
throp,  which  came  with  the  pieces  of  furniture  and  stores  he  sent 
up  to  her  order.  It  was  but  a  word, — or  two  words ;  one  of 
business,  to  say  what  he  had  done  for  her;  and  one  of  kindness, 
to  say  what  he  hoped  she  was  doing  for  herself.  Both  words 
were  brief,  and  cool ;  but  with  them,  with  the  very  handwriting 
of  them,  came  a  waft  of  that  atmosphere  of  influence — that  silent 
breath  of  truth  which  every  character  breathes— which  in  this 
instance  was  sweetened  with  airs  from  heaven.  The  image  of 
the  writer  rose  before  her  brightly,  in  its  truth  and  uprightness 
and  high  and  fixed  principle  ;  and  though  Elizabeth  wept  bitter 
tears  at  the  miserable  contrast  of  her  own,  they  were  more  heal- 


444:  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

ing  tears  than  she  had  shed  all  those  days.  When  she  dried  them, 
it  was  with  a  new  mind,  to  live  no  more  hours  like  those  she  had 
been  living.  Something  less  distantly  unlike  him  she  could  be, 
and  would  be.  She  rose  and  went  into  the  house,  while  her  eyes 
were  yet  red,  and  gave  her  patient  and  unwearied  attention,  for 
hours,  to  details  of  household  arrangements  that  needed  it.  Her 
wits  were  not  wandering,  nor  her  eyes ;  nor  did  they  suffer  others 
to  wander.  Then,  when  it  was  all  done,  she  took  her  bonnet  and 
went  back  to  her  old  wood-place  and  her  bible,  with  an  humbler 
and  quieter  spirit  than  she  had  ever  brought  to  it  before.  It  was 
the  fifth  chapter  of  Matthew  now. 

The  first  beatitude  puzzled  her.  She  did  not  know  what  was 
meant  by  '  poor  in  spirit,'  and  she  could  not  satisfy  herself.  She 
passed  it  as  something  to  be  made  out  by  and  by,  and  went  on  to 
the  others.     There  were  obligations  enough. 

"  '  Meek  ?  '  "  said  Elizabeth, — "  I  suppose  if  there  is  anything 
in  the  world  I  am  not,  it  is  meek.  I  am  the  very,  very  opposite. 
What  can  I  do  with  this  ?  It  is  like  a  fire  in  my  veins.  Can  1 
sool  it  ?  And  if  I  could  control  the  outward  seeming  of  it,  that 
vvould  not  be  the  change  of  the  thing  itself.  Besides,  I  couldn't, 
[  musi  be  meek,  if  I  am  ever  to  seem  so." 

She  went  on  sorrowfully  to  the  next. 

"  '  Hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness  ' — I  do  desire  it — I 
do  not  '  hwiger  and  thirst?  I  don't  think  I  do — and  it  is  those 
and  those  only  to  whom  the  promise  is  given.  I  am  so  miserable 
that  I  cannot  even  wish  enough  for  what  I  need  most.  O 
God,  help  me  to  know  what  I  am  seeking,  and  to  seek  it  more 
earnestly ! — " 

"  '  Merciful  ?  '  "  she  went  on  with  tears  in  her  eyes — "  I 
think  I  am  merciful. — I  haven't  been  tried,  but  I  am  pretty  sure 
I  am  merciful.  But  there  it  is — one  must  have  all  the  marks,  I 
suppose,  to  be  a  Christian.  Some  people  may  be  merciful  by 
nature — I  suppose  I  am. — " 

"  Blessed  are  the  p\  ire  in  heart." 

She  stopped  there,  and  even  shut  up  her  book,  in  utter  sor- 
row and  shame,  that  if  '  pure  in  heart '  meant  pure  to  the  All-see- 
ing eye,  hers  was  so  very,  very  far  from  it.  There  was  not  a  little 
scrap  of  her  heart  fit  for  looking  into.  And  what  could  she  do  with 
it  ?  The  words  of  Job  recurred  to  her, — "  Who  can  bring  a 
clean  thing  out  of  an  unclean  ?  not  one." 

Elizabeth  was  growing  '  poor  in  spirit '  before  she  knew  what 
the  words  meant.     She  went  on  carefully,  sorrowfully,  earnestly. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  445 

— till  she  came  to  the  twenty-fourth  verse  of  the  sixth  chapter. 
It  startled  her. 

"  No  man  can  serve  two  masters :  for  either  he  will  hate  the  one  and 
lore  the  other  ;  or  else  he  will  hold  to  the  one  and  despise  the  other.  Yo 
cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon." 

"  That  is  to  say  then,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  that  I  must  devote 
myself  entirely  to  God — or  not  at  all.  All  my  life  and  posses- 
sions and  aims.     It  means  all  that ! — " 

And  for  '  all  that '  she  felt  she  was  not  ready.  One  corner 
for  self-will  and  doing  her  own  pleasure  she  wanted  somewhere ; 
and  wanted  so  obstinately,  that  she  felt,  as  it  were,  a  moun- 
tain of  strong  unwillingness  rise  up  between  God's  requirements 
and  her ;  an  iron  lock  upon  the  door  of  her  heart,  the  key  of 
which  she  could  not  turn,  shutting  and  barring  it  fast  against  his 
entrance  and  rule.  And  she  sat  down  before  the  strong  mo;iatain 
and  the  locked  door,  as  before  something  which  must,  and  could 
not,  give  way  ;  with  a  desperate  feeling  that  it  must — with  another 
desperate  feeling  that  it  would  not. 

Now  was  Elizabeth  very  uncomfortable,  and  she  hated  dis- 
comfort. She  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  make  herself 
right :  if  a  movement  of  her  hand  could  have  changed  her  and 
cleared  away  the  hindrance,  it  would  have  been  made  on  the  in- 
stant ;  her  judgment  and  her  wish  were  clear ;  but  her  will  was  not. 
Unconditional  submission  she  thought  she  was  ready  for ;  uncon- 
ditional obedience  was  a  stumbling-block  before  which  she  stopped 
short.  She  knew  there  would  come  up  occasions  when  her  own 
will  would  take  its  way — she  could  not  promise  for  it  that  it 
would  not ;  and  she  was  afraid  to  give  up  her  freedom  utterly 
and  engage  to  serve  God  in  everything.  An  enormous  engage- 
ment, she  felt !  How  was  she  to  meet  with  ten  thousand  the 
enemy  that  came  against  h«r  with  twenty  thousand  ? — Ay,  how  ? 
But  if  he  were  not  met — if  she  were  to  be  the  servant  of  sin  for 
ever — all  was  lost  then  !  And  she  was  not  going  to  be  lost ; 
therefore  she  was  going  to  be  the  unconditional  servant  of  God. 
When  ?— 

The  tears  came,  but  they  did  not  flow ;  they  could  not,  for 
the  fever  of  doubt  and  questioning.  She  dashed  them  away  as 
impertinent  asides.  What  were  they  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
Elizabeth  was  in  distress.  But  at  the  same  time  it  was  distress 
that  she  was  resolved  to  get  out  of.  She  did  not  know  just  what 
to  do ;  but  neither  would  she  go  into  the  house  till  something 
was  done. 

"  If  Mr.  Landholm  were  here  ! — " 


446  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  What  could  he  do  ?  "  answered  conscience ;  "  there  is  the 
question  before  you,  for  you  to  deal  with.  You  must  deal  with 
it.     It's  a  plain  question." 

"  I  cannot  " — and  "  Who  will  undertake  for  me  ?  " — were 
Elizabeth's  answering  cry. 

Her  heart  involuntarily  turned  to  the  great  helper,  but  what 
could  or  would  he  do  for  her  ? — it  was  his  will  she  was  thwarting. 
Nevertheless,  "  to  whom  should  she  go  ?  " — the  shaken  needle  of 
her  mind's  compass  turned  more  and  more  steadily  to  its  great 
centre.  There  was  light  in  no  other  quarter  but  on  that  t  wicket- 
gate  '  towards  which  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  first  long  ago  set  off  to  run. 
With  some  such  sorrowful  blind  looking,  she  opened  to  her  chap- 
ter of  Matthew  again,  and  carelessly  and  sadly  turned  over  a  leaf 
or  two ;  till  she  saw  a  word  which  though  printed  in  the  ordinary 
type  of  the  rest,  stood  out  to  her  eyes  like  the  lettering  en  a  sign- 
board.    "  Ask."— 

"  Ask,  and  it  shall  "be  given  you ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find ;  knock,  and  if 
shall  be  opened  unto  you." 

The  tears  came  then  with  a  gush. 

"  Ask  what  ? — it  doesn't  say, — but  it  must  be  whatever  my 
difficulty  needs — there  is  no  restriction.  '  Knock  '  ! — I  will — 
till  it  is  opened  to  me — as  it  will  be ! — " 

The  difficulty  was  not  gone — the  mountain  had  not  suddenly 
sunk  to  a  level ;  but  she  had  got  a  clue  to  get  over  the  one,  and 
daylight  had  broken  through  the  other.  Elizabeth  felt  not 
changed  at  all ;  no  better,  and  no  tenderer ;  but  she  laid  hold  ot 
those  words  as  one  who  has  but  uncertain  footing  puts  his  arms 
round  a  strong  tree, — she  clung  as  one  clings  there ;  and  clasped 
them  with  assurance  of  life.  Ask  ? — did  she  not  ask,  with  tears 
that  streamed  now ;  she  knocked,  clasping  that  stronghold  with 
more  glad  and  sure  clasp ;  she  knew  then  that  everything  would 
be  '  made  plain  '  in  the  rough  places  of  her  heart. 

She  did  not  sit  still  long  then  for  meditation  or  to  rest ;  her 
mood  was  action.  She  took  her  bible  from  the  moss,  and  with 
a  strong  beating  sense  both  of  the  hopeful  and  of  the  forlorn  in 
her  condition,  she  walked  slowly  through  the  grass  to  the  steps 
of  her  house  door.  As  she  mounted  them  a  new  thought  sud- 
denly struck  her,  and  instead  of  turning  to  the  right  she  turned 
to  the  left. 

"  Mrs.  Nettley,"  said  Elizabeth  as  she  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  "  isn't  it  very  inconvenient  for  you  to  be  staying  here 
with  me?" 

Good  Mrs.  Nettley  was  sitting  quietly  at  her  work,  and 
looked  up  at  this  quite  startled. 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  447 

"  Isn't  it  inconvenient  for  you  ?  "  Elizabeth  repeated. 

"  Miss  Haye  ! — it  isn't  inconvenient ; — I  am  very  glad  to  do 
it — if  I  can  be  of  any  service " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  and  very  pleasant  to  me ;  but  aren't 
you  wanted  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  wanted,  Miss  Haye, — at  least  I  am  sure 
my  brother  is  very  glad  to  have  me  do  anything  for  Mr.  Land- 
holm,  or  for  you,  I  am  sure  ; — if  I  can." 

Elizabeth's  eye  flashed ;  but  then  in  an  instant  she  called 
herself  a  fool,  and  in  the  same  breath  wondered  why  it  should  be, 
that  Winthrop's  benevolence  must  put  him  in  the  way  of  giving 
her  so  much  pain. 

"  Who  fills  your  place  at  home,  while  you  are  taking  care  of 
me  here,  Mrs.  Nettley  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  of  'em  can  just  do  that,"  said  the  good 
lady  with  a  little  bit  of  a  laugh  at  the  idea. 

"  Well,  is  there  any  one  to  take  care  of  your  house  and  your 
brother  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Landholm — he  said  he'd  see  to  it." 

"  Mr.  Landholm  !— " 

"  He  promised  he'd  take  care  of  George  and  the  house  as 
well. — I  dare  say  they  don't  manage  much  amiss." 

"  But  who  takes  care  of  Mr.  Landholm  ?  " 

"  Nobody  does,  if  he  don't  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  with 
a  shake  of  her  head.  "  He  don't  give  that  pleasure  to  any  other 
living  person." 

"  Not  when  you  arc  at  home  ?  " 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  Miss  Haye,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  go- 
ing on  with  her  sewing.     "  He  never  will.     He  never  did." 

"  But  surely  he  boards  somewhere,  don't  he  ?  He  don't  live 
entirely  by  himself  in  that  room  ?  " 

"  That's  what  he  always  used,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  ;  "  he  does 
take  his  dinners  somewhere  now,  I  believe.  But  nothing  else. 
He  makes  his  own  tea  and  breakfast, — that  is ! — for  he  don't 
drink  anything.  If  it  was  any  one  else,  one  would  be  apt  to  say 
one  would  grow  unsociable,  living  in  such  a  way ;  but  it  don't 
make  any  change  in  him,  no  more  than  in  the  sun,  what  sort  of  a 
place  he  lives  in." 

Elizabeth  stood  for  a  minute  very  still ;  and  then  said  gently, 

"  Mrs.  Nettley,  I  mustn't  let  you  stay  here  with  me." 

"  Why  not,  Miss  Haye  ? — I  am  sure  they  don't  want  me.  I 
can  just  as  well  stay  as  not.     I  am  very  glad  to  stay." 

"  You  are  wanted  more  there  than  here.  I  must  learn  to 
get  along  alone. — It  don't  matter  how  soon  I  begin." 


448  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Dear  Miss  Haye,  not  yet.  Never  mind  now — we'll  talk 
fcbout  it  by  and  by,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  hurriedly  and  somewhat 
anxiously.     She  was  a  little  afraid  of  Elizabeth. 

"  How  could  you  get  home  from  this  place  ?  " 

"  O  by  and  by — there'll  be  ways — when  the  time  comes." 

M  The  time  must  come,  Mrs.  Nettley.  You  are  very  good — 
I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  and  staying  with  me, 
— but  in  conscience  I  cannot  let  you  stay  any  longer.  It  don't 
make  any  difference,  a  little  sooner  or  later." 

"  Later  is  better,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  No — I  shall  feel  more  comfortable  to  think  you  are  at  home, 
than  to  think  I  am  keeping  you  here.  I  would  rather  you  should 
make  your  arrangements  and  choose  what  day  you  will  go ;  and  I 
will  find  some  way  for  you  to  go." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  said  Mrs.  Nettley  most 
unaffectedly.  "  I  am  sure  Mr.  Landholm  would  a  great  deal 
rather  I  should  stay." 

It  was  the  last  word  Elizabeth  could  stand.  Her  lip  trem- 
bled, as  she  crossed  the  passage  to  her  own  room  and  bolted  the 
door ;  and  then  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside 
and  hid  the  quivering  face  in  her  hands. 

Why  should  it,  that  kind  care  of  his,  pierce  her  like  thorns 
and  arrows  ?  why  give  her  that  when  he  could  give  her  no  more  ? 
"  But  it  will  all  be  over,"  she  thought  to  herself, — "this  struggle 
like  all  other  struggles  will  come  to  an  end;  meanwhile  I  have  it 
to  bear  and  my  work  to  do.  Perhaps  I  shall  get  over  this  feel- 
ing in  time — time  wears  out  so  much. — But  I  should  despise  my- 
self if  I  did.  No,  when  I  have  taken  up  a  liking  on  so  good  and 
solid  grounds,  I  hope  I  am  of  good  enough  stuff  to  keep  it  to  the 
end  of  my  days." 

Then  came  over  her  the  feeling  of  forlornness,  of  loneliness, 
well  and  thoroughly  realized;  with  the  single  gleam  of  better 
things  that  sprung  from  the  promise  her  heart  had  embraced  that 
day.  True  and  strong  it  was,  and  her  soul  clung  to  it.  But 
yet  its  real  brightness,  to  her  apprehension,  shone  upon  a  "  land 
that  is  very  far  off;  "  and  left  all  the  way  thereunto  with  but  a 
twilight  earnest  of  good  things  to  come ;  and  Elizabeth  did  not 
like  looking  forward ;  she  wanted  some  sweetness  in  hand.  Yet 
she  clung  to  that,  her  one  stand-by.  She  had  a  vague  notion 
that  its  gleam  might  lead  to  more  brightness  even  this  side  of 
heaven ;  that  there  might  be  a  sort  of  comfort  growing  out  of 
doing  one's  duty,  and  the  favour  of  him  whose  service  duty  is. 
Winthrop  Landholm  was  always  bright, — and  what  else  had  he 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTTC.  449 

to  make  him  so  ?  She  would  try  what  virtue  there  might  be  in 
it ;  she  would  essay  those  paths  of  wisdom  which  are  said  to 
be  '  pleasantness ; '  but  again  came  the  longing  for  help ;  she 
felt  that  she  knew  so  little.  Again  the  word  '  ask  ' — came  back 
to  her;  and  at  last,  half  comforted,  wholly  wearied,  she  rose 
from  -her  long  meditation  by  the  bedside  and  went  towards  the 
window. 

There  was  such  a  sparkling  beauty  on  everything  outside, 
under  the  clear  evening  sun,  that  its  brilliancy  half  rebuked  her. 
The  very  shadows  seemed  bright,  so  bright  were  the  lines  of  light 
between  them,  where  the  tall  pointed  cedars  were  casting  their 
mantle  on  the  grass.  Elizabeth  stood  by  the  open  window, 
wondering.  She  looked  back  to  the  time  when  she  had  been 
there  before,  when  she  was  as  bright,  though  not  as  pure,  as  all 
things  else ;  and  now — father  and  friend  were  away  from  her, 
and  she  was  alone.  Yet  still  the  sun  shone — might  it  not  again 
some  time  for  her  ?  Poor  child,  as  she  stood  there  the  tears 
dropped  fast,  at  that  meeting  of  hope  and  sorrow ;  hope  as  in- 
tangible as  the  light,  sorrow  a  thicker  mantle  than  that  of  the 
cedar  trees.  And  now  the  sunlight  seemed  to  say  'Ash' — and 
the  green  glittering  earth  responded — "  and  ye  shall  receive." 
Elizabeth  looked ; — she  heard  them  say  it  constantly.  She  did 
not  question  the  one  word  or  the  other.  It  seemed  very  sweet  to 
her,  the  thought  of  doing  her  duty ;  and  yet, — the  tears  which 
had  stayed,  ran  fast  again  when  she  thought  of  Mrs.  Nettley's 
going  away  and  how  utterly  alone  she  should  be. 

She  had  sat  down  and  was  resting  her  arm  on  the  window-sill ; 
and  Miss  Haye's  face  was  in  a  state  of  humbled  and  saddened 
gravity  which  no  one  ever  saw  it  in  before  these  days.  As  she 
sat  there,  Karen's  voice  reached  her  from  the  back  of  the  house 
somewhere ;  and  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Elizabeth  that  it  might 
be  as  well  for  her  to  acquaint  herself  somewhat  better  with  one  of 
her  few  remaining  inmates,  since  their  number  was  to  be  so  les- 
sened. She  dried  her  eyes,  and  went  out  with  quick  step  through 
the  kitchen  till  she  neared  the  door  of  the  little  back  porch  where 
Karen  was  at  work.     There  she  paused. 

The  old  woman  was  singing  one  of  her  Methodist  songs,  in  a 
voice  that  had  once  very  likely  been  sweet  and  strong.  It  was 
trembling  and  cracked  now.  Yet  none  of  the  fire  and  spirit  of 
old  was  wanting ;  as  was  shewn,  not  indeed  by  the  power  of  the 
notes,  but  by  the  loving  flow  or  cadence  the  singer  gave  them. 
Elizabeth  lingered  just  within  the  door  to  listen.     The  melody 


450  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTTC. 

was  as  wild  and  sweet  as  suited  the  words.     The  first  of  the  song 
she  had  lost ;  it  went  on — 

"  till  Jesus  shall  come, 
"  Protect  and  defend  me  until  I'm  called  home ; 
"  Though  worms  my  poor  body  may  claim  as  their  prey, 
"  'Twill  outshine,  when  rising,  the  sun  at  noon-day. 

"  The  sun  shall  be  darkened,  the  moon  turned  to  blood, 
'    "  The  mountains  all  melt  at  the  presence  of  God  ; 

"  Red  lightnings  may  flash,  and  loud  thunders  may  roar, 
"  All  this  cannot  daunt  me  on  Canaan's  blest  shore. 

M  A  glimpse  of  bright  glory  surprises  my  soul, 
"  I  sink  in  sweet  visions  to  view  the  bright  goal ; 
"  My  soul,  while  I'm  singing,  is  leaping  to  go, 
"  This  moment  for  heaven  I'd  leave  all  below 

u  Farewell,  my  dear  brethren — my  Lord  bids  me  come ; 
"  Farewell,  my  dear  sisters — I'm  now  going  home  ; 
"  Bright  angels  are  whispering  so  sweet  in  my  ear, — 
"  Away  to  my  Saviour  my  spirit  they'll  bear. 

' '  I  am  going — I'm  going — but  what  do  I  see  ! — " 

She  was  interrupted. 

"  Do  you  mean  all  that,   Karen  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  stepping 
without  the  door. 

Karen  stopped  her  song  and  looked  round. 

"  Do  you  mean  all  that  you  are  singing,  Karen  ?  " 

"What  I'm  singing?—" 

"  Yes.    I've  been  listening  to  you. — Do  you  feel  and  mean  all 
those  words  of  your  hymn  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  no  words  I  don't  mean,"  said  Karen,  going  on 
with  her  work; — "  anyhow,  I  don't  mean  to." 

"  But  those  words  you  have  been  singing — do  you  mean  that 
you  feel  them  all  ?  " 

Karen  stood  up  and  faced  her  as  she  answered, 

"  Yes ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  rather  die  than  live  ?  " 

"  If  'twas  the  Lord's  will,  I  would,"  said  Karen,  without  mov- 
ing her  face. 

"Why?" 

Karen  looked  at  her  still,  but  her  face  unbent  in  a  little  bit  of 
a  smile. 

"  You  ain't  one  of  the  Lord's  people,  be  you,  young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — "  said  Elizabeth,  blushing  and  hesitating, — "  I 
mean  to  be." 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHC.  451 

"  Do  you  mean  to  be  one  of  'em  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  I  wish  to  be — yes,  I  mean  to  be, — if  I  can." 

The  old  woman  dried  her  hand  which  had  been  busy  in  water, 
and  coming  up  took  one  of  Elizabeth's, — looked  at  its  delicate 
tints  in  her  own  wrinkled  and  black  fingers,  and  then  lifting  a 
moistened  eye  to  Elizabeth's  face,  she  answered  expressively, 

"  Then  you'll  know." 

11  But  I  want  to  know  something  about  it  now,"  said  the  young 
lady  as  Karen  went  back  to  her  work.  "  Tell  me.  How  can  you 
wish  to  '  leave  all  for  heaven,'  as  you  were  singing  a  moment 
ago  ? " 

"  I'd  ha'  done  that  plenty  o'  years  ago,"  said  Karen.  "  I'd 
got  enough  of  this  world  by  that  time." 

"  Is  that  the  reason  ?  "  i 

"  What  reason  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  Is  that  the  reason  you  would  like  to  go  to  heaven?" 

"  It's  the  reason  why  I'm  willing  to  leave  the  earth,"  said 
Karen.     "  It  hain't  nothin'  to  do  with  heaven." 

"  Anybody  might  be  willing  to  go  to  heaven  at  that  rate,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

"  That  ain't  all,  young  lady,"  said  Karen,  working  away  while 
she  spoke.  "  I'm  not  only  willin'  to  go — I'm  willin'  to  be  there 
when  I  get  there — and  I'm  ready  too,  thank  the  Lord  !  " 

"  How  can  one  be  '  ready  '  for  it,  Karen  ? — -It  seems  such  a 
change." 

"  It'll  be  a  good  change,"  said  Karen.  "  Mis'  Landholm 
thinks  it  is." 

Elizabeth  stood  silent,  the  tears  swelling ;  she  got  little  light 
from  Karen. 

"  You  wa'n't  one  of  the  Lord's  people  when  you  come  ? — be 
you  ? — "  said  Karen  suddenly,  looking  round  at  her. 

"  I  hardly  know  whether  I  am  one  now,  Karen, — but  I  mean 
to  try." 

"  Tryin'  ain't  no  use,"  said  Karen.  "If  you  want  to  be  one 
of  the  Lord's  people,  you've  only  to  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened 
to  you." 

"  Did  you  never  know  that  fail  ?  " 

"  I  never  tried  it  but  once — it  didn't  fail  me  then,"  said  the 
old  woman.  "  The  Lord  keeps  his  promises. — I  tried  it  a  good 
while — it  don't  do  to  stop  knockin'." 

"But  I  must — one  must  try  to  do  something — I  must  try  to 
do  my  duty,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Surely !  "  said  Karen,  facing  round  upon  her  again, "  but  you 


452  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

can't  help  that.  Do  you  s'pose  you  can  love  Jesus  Christ,  and 
not  love  to  please  him  ?     'Tain't  in  natur' — you  can't  help  it." 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  love  him,  Karen  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  her 
voice  choking  as  she  said  it.  "I  don't  know  him  yet — I  don't 
know  him  enough  to  love  him." 

There  was  a  little  pause ;  and  then  without  looking  at  her, 
Karen  said  in  her  trembling  voice,  a  little  more  trembling  than 
it  was, 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  'Lizabeth — l  To  them  gave  he  power  to 
become  the  sons  of  God,  even  to  them  that  believe  on  his  name ! ' 
— I  heard  a  man  preach  that  once." 

The  tears  rushed  in  full  measure  to  Elizabeth's  eyes.  She 
stood,  not  heeding  Karen  nor  anything  else,  and  the  thick  veil  of 
tears  hiding  everything  from  her  sight.  It  was  a  moment  of 
strong  joy ;  for  she  knew  she  believed  in  him !  She  was,  or  she 
would  be,  one  of  '  his  people.'  Her  strong  pillar  of  assurance  she 
clasped  again,  and  leaned  her  heart  upon,  with  unspeakable  rest. 

She  stood,  till  the  water  had  cleared  itself  from  her  eyes ;  and 
then  she  was  turning  into  the  house,  but  turned  back  again,  and 
went  close  up  to  the  old  black  woman. 

"  Thank  you,  Karen,"  said  she.  "  You  have  given  me  com- 
fort." 

11  You  hain't  got  it  all,"  said*  Karen  without  looking  at  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

11  Did  you  ever  read  a  book  called  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,' 
young  lady  f  " 

"  No." 

"  I  ain't  much  like  the  people  there,"  said  Karen,  "  but  they 
was  always  glad  to  hear  of  one  more  that  was  going  to  be  a  pil- 
grim; and  clapped  their  hands,  they  did." 

"  Did  you  ever  read  it,  Karen  ?  " 

"  I  hearn  Mis'  Landholm  read  it — and  the  Governor." 

Elizabeth  turned  away,  and  she  had  not  half  crossed  the 
kitchen  when  she  heard  Karen  strike  up,  in  a  sweet  refrain, 

"  I'll  march  to  Canaan's  land, 
"  I'll  land  on  Canaan's  shore," — 

Then  something  stopped  the  song,  and  Elizabeth  came  back 
to   her  room.     She  sat  down  by    the  window.     The  light  was 
changed.     There  seemed  a  strange  clear  brightness  on  all  things 
without  that  they  had  not  a  little  while  ago,  anc* 
had  before.     And  her  bread  was  sweet  to  her  th- 


CHAPTER    XL. 

Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do; 
Not  light  thein  for  themselves :  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not. 

SlIAXSPEAKE. 

Much  against  Mrs.  Nettley's  will,  she  was  despatched  on  her 
journey  homewards  within  a  few  days  after.  She  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  stay  yet  a  week  or  two,  or  three ;  but  Elizabeth  was 
immoveable.  "  It  would  make  no  difference,"  she  said,  "  or  at 
least  I  would  rather  you  should  go.  You  ought  to  be  there — and 
I  may  as  well  learn  at  once  to  get  used  to  it." 

"  But  it  will  be  very  bad  for  you,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"  I  think  it  is  right,  Mrs.  Nettley." 

So  Mrs.  Nettley  went ;  and  how  their  young  lady  passed  her 
days  and  bore  the  quietude  and  the  sorrow  of  them,  the  rest  of 
the  household  marvelled  together. 

"  She'd  die,  if  there  was  dyin'  stuff  in  her,"  said  Clam  ;  "  but 
there  ain*t." 

"  What  for  should  she  die  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  I'm  as  near  dead  as  I  can  be,  myself,"  was  Clam's  conclu- 
sive reply. 

"  What  ails  you,  girl  ?  " 

"  I  can't  catch  my  breath  good  among  all  these  mountains," 
said  Clam.     "  I  guess  the  hills  spiles  the  air  hereabouts." 

"  Your  young  lady  don't  think  so." 

"  No,"  said  Clam, — "  she  looks  at  the  mountains  as  if  she'd 
swaller  them  whole — them  and  her  Bible ; — only  she  looks  into 
that  as  if  it  would  swaller  her." 

"  Poor  bird  !  she's  beat  down ; — it's  too  lonesome  up  here 
for  her  !  "  said  Karen  more  tenderly  than  her  wont  was. 

"  That  ain't  no  sign  she'll  go,"  said  Clam.     u  She's  as  notional 


454  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

as  the  Governor  himself,  when  she  takes  a  notion ;  only  there's 
some  sense  in  his,  and  you  never  know  where  the  sense  of  hers  is 
till  it  comes  out." 

"  The  house  is  so  still,  it's  pitiful  to  hear  it,"  said  Karen.  "  I 
never  minded  it  when  there  wa'n't  nobody  in  it — I  knowed  the 
old  family  was  all  gone — but  now  I  hear  it,  seems  to  me,  the 
whole  day  long.     You  can't  hear  a  foot,  when  you  ain't  in  there." 

"That'll  last  awhile,  maybe,"  said  Clam;  " and  then  you'll 
have  a  row.  'Tain't  in  her  to  keep  still  more'n  a  certain  length 
o'  time ;  and  when  she  comes  out,  there'll  be  a  firing  up,  I 
tell  ye." 

"  The  Lord  '11  keep  his  own,"  said  Karen  rising  from  the 
table.     Which  sentence  Clam  made  nothing  of. 

Spite  of  her  anticipations,  the  days,  and  the  weeks,  sped  on 
smoothly  and  noiselessly.  Indeed  more  quietness,  and  not  less, 
seemed  to  be  the  order  of  them.  Probably  too  much  for  Eliza- 
beth's good,  if  sJtch  a  state  of  mere  mind-life  had  been  of  long 
lasting.  It  would  not  long  have  been  healthy.  The  stir  of 
passion,  at  first,  was  fresh  enough  to  keep  her  thoughts  fresh ; 
but  as  time  went  on  there  were  fewer  tears  and  a  more  settled 
borne-down  look  of  sorrow.  Even  her  Bible,  constantly  studied, 
— even  prayer,  constantly  made  over  it,  did  not  hinder  this.  Her 
active  nature  was  in  an  unnatural  state ;  it  could  not  be  well  so. 
And  it  sometimes  burst  the  bounds  she  had  set  to  it,  and  in- 
dulged in  a  passionate  wrestling  with  the  image  of  joys  lost  and 
longed  for.  Meanwhile,  the  hot  days  of  August  were  passed,  the 
first  heats  of  September  were  slowly  gone ;  and  days  and  nights 
began  to  cool  off  in  earnest  towards  the  frosty  weather. 

"  If  there  ain't  some  way  found  to  keep  Miss  Haye's  eyes  from 
cryin',  she  won't  have  'em  to  do  anything  else  with.  And  she'll 
want  'em,  some  day." 

Clam,  like  Elizabeth  of  old,  having  nobody  else  to  speak  to, 
was  sometimes  driven  to  speak  to  the  nearest  at  hand. 

"  Is  she  cryin',  now  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  I  don'  know  what  you  'd  call  it,"  said  Clam.  "  'Tain't  much 
like  other  folks'  cryin'  " 

"  Well  there's  a  letter  Anderese  fetched — you  'd  better  take 
it  to  her  as  soon  as  it  '11  do.     Maybe  it  '11  do  her  good." 

"  Where  from  ?  "  said  Clam  seizing  it. 

"  Anderese  fetched  it  from  Mountain  Spring." 

"  Now  I  wish  ;twas — but  it  ain't !— "  said  Clam.  "  I'll  take 
<t  to  her  anyhow." 

Elizabeth  knew  that  it  wasnH,  as  soon  as  she  took  it.     The 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTTC.  455 

letter  was  from  the  gentleman  who  had  been  her  father's  lawyer 
in  the  city. 

Mannahatta,  Sept.  26,  1817. 
"  Dear  Madam, 

Upon  arrangement  of  Mr.  Haye's  affairs,  I  regret  to  say, 
we  find  it  will  take  nearly  all  his  effects  to  meet  the  standing 
liabilities  and  cover  the  failure  of  two  or  three  large  operations 
in  which  Mr.  Haye  had  ventured  more  upon  uncertain  contingen- 
cies than  was  his  general  habit  in  business  matters.  So  little  in- 
deed will  be  left,  at  the  best  issue  we  can  hope  for,  that  Mrs. 
Haye's  interest,  whose  whole  property,  I  suppose  you  are  aware, 
was  involved,  I  grieve  to  say  will  amount  to  little  or  nothing. 
It  were  greatly  to  be  wished  that  some  settlement  had  in  time 
been  made  for  her  benefit ;  but  nothing  of  the  kind  was  done, 
nor  I  suppose  in  the  circumstances  latterly  was  possible.  The 
will  makes  ample  provision,  but  I  am  deeply  pained  to  say,  is,  as 
matters  stand,  but  a  nullity.     I  enclose  a  copy. 

"  I  have  thought  it  right  to  advertise  you  of  these  painful 
tidings,  and  am, 

"  Dear  madam,  with  great  respect, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  Dustus  0.  Brick." 

Elizabeth  had  read  this  letter,  and  pondered  over  it  by  turns 
half  the  day,  when  a  startling  thought  for  the  first  time  flashed 
into  her  mind.  Rose's  desolate  condition !  Less  desolate  than 
her  own  indeed,  in  so  far  that  Rose  had  less  strength  to  feel ;  but 
more  desolate  by  far,  because  being  as  friendless  she  was  much 
more  helpless  than  herself.  "  What  will  she  do,  without  money 
and  friends  ? — for  she  never  had  any  near  and  dear  friends  but 
father  and  me.     Where  can  she  live  ? " 

Elizabeth  jumped  up  and  ran  into  the  house  to  get  away  from 
the  inference.  But  when  she  had  sat  down  in  her  chair  the  in- 
ference stood  before  her. 

"  Bring  her  here  ! — I  cannot.  I  cannot.  It  would  ruin  my 
life."  Then,  clear  and  fair,  stood  the  words  she  had  been  read- 
ing— l  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you ' 

"  But  there  is  no  bed-room  for  her  but  this — or  else  there 
will  be  no  sitting- r^om  for  either  of  us ; — and  then  we  must  eat 

in  the  kitchen  ! " 

•  "  She  has  neither  house,  nor  home,  nor  friend,  nor  money. 
What  wouldst  thou,  in  her  place  ? " 

Elizabeth  put  her  face  in  her  hands  and  almost  groaned.    She 


456  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

took  it  up  and  looked  out,  but  in  all  bright  nature  she  could  find 
nothing  which  did  not  side  against  her.  She  got  up  and  walked 
the  room ;  then  she  sat  down  and  began  to  consider  what  arrange- 
ments would  be  necessary,  and  what  would  be  possible.  Then 
confessed  to  herself  that  it  would  not  be  all  bad  to  have  some- 
body to  break  her  solitude,  even  anybody ;  then  got  over  another 
qualm  of  repugnance,  and  drew  the  table  near  her  and  opened 
her  desk. 

Shahweetah,  Sept.  26,  1817. 
"  Dear  Kose, 

"  I  am  all  alone,  like  you.  Will  you  come  here  and  let 
us  do  the  best  we  can  together  ?  I  am  at  a  place  you  don't  like, 
but  I  shall  not  stay  here  all  the  time,  and  I  think  you  can  bear 
it  with  me  for  a  while.  I  shall  have  things  arranged  so  as  to 
make  you  as  comfortable  as  you  can  be  in  such  straitened  quar- 
ters, and  expect  you  will  come  as  soon  as  you  can  get  a  good 
opportunity.  Whether  you  come  by  boat  or  not,  part  of  the 
way,  you  will  have  to  take  the  stage-coach  from  Pimpernel  here ; 
and  you  must  stop  at  the  little  village  of  Mountain  Spring,  op- 
posite Wut-a-qut-o.  From  there  you  can  get  here  by  wagon 
or  boat.  I  can't  send  for  you,  for  I  have  neither  one  nor  the 
other. 

"  Yours  truly,  dear  Kose, 

"  Elizabeth  Haye." 

With  the  letter  in  her  hand,  Elizabeth  went  forth  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  Karen,  is  there  any  sort  of  a  cabinet-maker  at  Mountain 
Spring  ?  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  Is  there  any  sort  of  a  cabinet-maker  at  the  village  ? — a 
cabinet-maker, — somebody  that  makes  tables  and  bedsteads,  and 
that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  A  furnitur'  shop  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  Yes — something  of  that  kind.  Is  there  such  a  thing  in 
Mountain  Spring  ?  " 

Karen  shook  her  head. 

"  They  don't  make  nothin'  at  Mountain  Spring." 

"  Where  do  the  people  get  their  tables  and  chairs  ?  where  do 
they  go  for  them  ?  " 

"  They  go  'most  any  place,"  said  Karen  ; — "  sometimes  they 
goes  to  Pimpernel, — and  maybe  to  Starlings,  or  to  Deerford ; 
they  don't  go  much  nowheres." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  457 

"  Can  I  get  such  things  at  Pimpernel  ?  " 

"  If  you  was  there,  you  could,  I  s'pose,"  said  Karen. 

"  Could  Anderese  get  a  horse  and  cart  at  the  village,  to 
go  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  can  find  a  wagon  round  somewheres,"  said  Karen. 
"  You  couldn't  go  in  a  cart  handy." 

"  I ! — no,  but  I  want  to  send  him,  to  fetch  home  a  load  of 
things." 

"  How'll  he  know  what  to  get  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  him.     Couldn't  he  do  it  ?  " 

"If  he  knowed  what  was  wanted,  he  could,"  said  Karen. 
"  Me  and  him'll  go,  Miss  Lizzie,  and  we'll  do  it." 

"  You,  Karen !  I  don't  want  to  send  you." 

"  G-uess  I'll  do  the  best,"  said  the  old  woman.  *"  Anderese 
mightn't  know  what  to  fetch.     What  you  want,  Miss  Lizzie  ?  " 

Elizabeth  thought  a  moment  whether  she  should  ask  Win- 
throp  to  send  up  the  things  for  her;  but  she  could  not  bear 
to  do  it. 

"  I  want  a  bedstead,  Karen,  in  the  first  place." 

"  What  sort'll  a  one  ?  " 

"  The  best  you  can  find." 

"  That'll  be  what'll  spend  the  most  money,"  said  Karen 
musingly. 

"  I  don't  care  about  that,  but  the  nicest  sort  you  can  meet 
with.     And  a  bureau " 

"What's  that?"  said  Karen.  "I  dun'  know  what  that 
means." 

"  To  hold  clothes — with  drawers — like  that  in  my  room." 

"  A  cupboard  ?  "  said  Karen; — "  some  sort  like  that  ? " 

"  No,  no ;  I'll  shew  you  what  I  mean,  in  my  room ;  it  is 
called  a  bureau.  And  a  washstand — a  large  one,  if  you  can 
find  it.  And  a  rocking-chair — the  handsomest  one  that  can 
be  had." 

"  I  know  them  two,"  said  Karen.  "  That'll  be  a  load,  Miss 
Lizzie.     I  don't  b'lieve  the  wagon  '11  hold  no  more." 

"  The  first  fine  day,  Karen,  I  want  you  to  go." 

"  The  days  is  all  fine,  I  speck,  hereabouts,"  said  Karen. 
"  We'll  start  as  quick  as  Anderese  gets  a  wagon." 

"  Who's  comin  ,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  "  said  Clam  as  she  met  her 
young  lady  coming  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"  I  don't  know — possibly  Mrs.  Haye.     I  wish  all  things  to  bo 
in  readiness  for  her." 
20 


458  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

"  Where'll  she  sleep,  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  said  Clam  with  open- 
ing eyes. 

"  Here." 

"  Will  she  have  this  for  her  bedroom  ? — And  what'll  you  do, 
Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  M 

"  If  she  comes,  we  will  eat  in  the  kitchen."  And  with  the 
thought  the  young  lady  stepped  back. 

"  I  forgot — Karen,  do  you  think  the  wagon  will  hold  no  more  ? 
Anderese  must  get  a  large  one.  I  want  a  few  neat  chairs — 
plain  ones — cane-bottomed,  or  rush-bottomed  will  do ;  I  want  them 
for  this  room ;  for  if  this  lady  comes  we  shall  have  to  take  this  for 
our  eating-room.  I  don't  want  a  table ;  we  can  make  this  do  ; — 
or  we  can  take  the  one  I  use  now;  but  we  want  the  chairs." 

"  WelljTMiss  Lizzie,  you'll  have  to  have  'em — we'll  manage  to 
pile  'em  on  someways." 

And  Miss  Haye  withdrew. 

"  Ain't  this  a  start  now  ?  "  said  Clam  after  she  had  rubbed 
her  knives  in  silence  for  several  minutes.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  so  ?  " 

"  Tell  what  ?  "  said  Karen. 

«  Why !  that  Miss  'Lizabeth  couldn't  keep  quiet  more'n  long 
enough  to  get  her  spunk  up.  What  in  the  name  of  variety  is  she 
at  work  at  now !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  grumbled  Karen. 

"  Why  I  tell  you,"  said  Clam  facing  round,  "  them  two  love 
each  other  like  pison !  " 

"  That's  a  queer  way  to  love,"  said  Karen. 

"  They  hate  each  other  then — do  you  understand  me  ?  they 
hate  so,  one  wouldn't  thaw  a  piece  of  ice  off  the  other's  head  if  it 
was  freezin'  her  !  " 

"  Maybe  'tain't  jus'  so,"  said  Karen. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it !  "  said  Clam  contemptuously. 

"  What  do  you,  perhaps  ?  "  suggested  Karen. 

"  I  know  my  young  lady,"  said  Clam  rubbing  her  knives , 
u  and  I  know  t'other  one.  There  ain't  but  one  person  in  this 
world  that  can  make  Miss  'Lizabeth  keep  her  fire  down — but  she 
does  have  an  idee  of  mindin'  him." 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  said  Karen. 

"  Somebody  you  don't  know,  I  guess,"  said  Clam. 

"  If  'twas  all  true,  she  wouldn't  want  her  here,"  said  Karen. 

"  It's  all  true,"  said  Clam, — "  'cept  the  last.  You  don't 
know  nothin',  Karen.  We'll  see  what  a  time  there'll  be  when 
she  comes.     Eat  in  here  ! " 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC.  459 

,(  She's  eat  in  here  afore  now — and  I  guess  she  can  again," 
said  old  Karen,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  spoke  her  by  no  means 
so  discomposed  as  Clam's  words  would  seem  to  justify. 

Perhaps  Elizabeth  herself  had  a  thought  or  two  on  the  close 
quarters  which  would  be  the  infallible  result  of  Mrs.  Haye's 
seizure  of  the  old  '  keeping-room.' 

The  twenty-seventh,  spite  of  Karen's  understanding  of  the 
weather,  was  a  rainy  day.  The  twenty-eighth,  Karen  and  An- 
derese  went  to  Pimpernel  on  their  furniture  hunting,  and  came 
back  at  night  with  the  articles,  selected  somewhat  in  accordance 
with  a  limited  experience  of  the  usual  contents  of  a  cabinet- 
maker's warehouse.  The  very  next  day,  Elizabeth  set  Anderese 
to  foisting  out  and  putting  together  her  little  old  boat,  the 
Merry-go-round.  Putting  together,  literally ;  she  was  dropping 
to  pieces  from  the  effects  of  years  and  confinement.  Anderese 
was  hardly  equal  to  the  business ;  Elizabeth  sent  for  better  help 
from  Mountain  Spring,  and  watched  rather  eagerly  the  restoring 
of  her  favourite  to  strength  and  beauty.  Watched  and  pressed 
the  work,  as  if  she  was  in  a  hurry.  But  after  tightening  and 
caulking,  the  boat  must  be  repainted.  Elizabeth  watched  the  do- 
ing of  that ;  and  bargained  for  a  pair  of  light  oars  with  her  friend 
the  workman.  He  was  an  old,  respectable-looking  man,  of  no 
particular  calling,  that  appeared. 

"  Where  was  this  here  boat  built  ?  "  he  inquired  one  day  as 
he  was  at  work  and  Elizabeth  looking  on. 

"  It  was  built  in  Mannahatta." 

"  A  good  while  ago,  likely  ?  " 

{  Yes,  it  was." 

'  Did  this  here  belong  to  c  Id  Squire  Landholm  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  'Twa'n't  fetched  here  lately,  I  guess,  was  it  ?  " 

"  No — it  has  lain  here  a  long  time." 

"  Who  did  it  belong  to,  then  ?  " 

"  It  belonged  to  me." 

"  Is  it  your'n  now  ?  "  said  the  man  looking  up  at  her 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth  colouring, — "  it  is  not ;  but  it  belongs 
to  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Was  you  ever  in  these  parts  before  ?  " 

"  Some  time  ago." 

"  Then  you  knew  the  old  family,  likely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  There  was  fine  stuff  in  them  Landholms,"  said  the  old  man, 
perhaps  supplied  with  tha  figure  by  the  timber  he  was  nailing, — 


460  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  real  what  I  call  good  stuff — parents  and  children.  There  Vas 
a  great  deal  of  good  in  all  of  'em ;  only  the  boys  took  notions 
they  wouldn't  be  nothin'  but  ministers  or  lawyers  or  some  sort  o' 
people  that  wears  black  coats  and  don't  have  to  roll  up  their 
trowsers  for  nothin'.  They  were  clever  lads,  too.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  nothin'  agin  'em." 

"  Do  you  know  how  they're  gettin'  on  ?  "  he  asked  after  a 
pause  on  his  part  and  on  Elizabeth's. 

"  I  believe  Asahel  is  with  his  father, — gone  West." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  but  I  mean  the  others — them  two  that  went  to 
College.  I  ha'n't  seen  Rufus  for  a  great  spell — I  went  down  and 
fetched  up  Winthrop  when  his  mother  died." 

"  Will  you  have  paint  enough  to  finish  that  gunwale  ?  " 

"  Guess  so,"  said  the  old  man  looking  into  his  paint-pot. 
*  There's  more  oil  in  the  bottle.  What  be  them  two  doing  now  ? 
Winthrop's  a  lawyer,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well  he's  made  a  smart  one,  ha'n't  he  ? — ain't  he  about  as 
smart  as  ary  one  they've  got  in  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  judge,"  said  Elizabeth,  who  could  not  quite  keep 
her  countenance.     "  I  dare  say  he  is." 

"  He  was  my  favourite,  always,  Winthrop  was, — the  Governoi , 
as  they  called  him.     Well — I'd  vote  for  him  if  he  was  sot  up 
for  that  ofiice — or  any  other  office — if  they'd  do  it  while  I'm 
above  ground.     Where  is  he  now  ? — in  Mannahatta  ?  " 
" "  Yes." 

"  Where's  t'other  one — the  oldest — Rufus — where's  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  is.  How  soon  will  this  do  to  be  put 
in  the  water,  Mr.  Underhill  ?  " 

"  Well — I  guess  it'll  want  somethin'  of  a  dry  in'  fust.  You 
can  get  along  without  it  till  next  week,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Next  week !  and  this  is  Tuesday  ! " 

"  Yes — will  you  want  it  afore  that  ?  It  hadn't  ought  to  be 
put  in  the  water  one  day  afore  Monday — if  you  want  it  to  look 
handsome — or  to  wear  worth  speakin'  of." 

Miss  Haye  was  silent,  and  the  old  man's  brush  made  long 
sweeps  back  and  forward  over  the  shining  gunwale. 

"  You  see,"  Mr.  Underhill  went  on,  "  it'll  be  all  of  night 
afore  I  get  the  bottom  of  this  here  done. — What's  Rufus  doin'  ? 
is  he  got  to  be  a  minister  yet  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Another  lawyer  ?  " 

"  No." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  461 

"What.ishethen?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  believe  lie  was  an  engineer." 

"  An  engineer  ?  "  said  the  old  man  standing  np  and  looking 
at  her.  "  Do  you  mean  he's  one  o'  them  fellers  that  sees  to  the 
ingines  on  the  boats  ? — that  ain't  much  gettin'  up  in  the  world. 
I  see  one  o'  them  once — I  went  to  Mannahatta  in  the  boat,  just  to 
see  what  'twas — is  Rufus  one  o'  them  smutty  fellers  standing 
over  the  fires  there  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  it's  a  very  different  business,  and  as  respectable 
as  that  of  a  clergyman  or  lawyer." 

"  There  ain't  anything  more  respectable  than  what  his  father 
was,"  said  Mr.  Underhill.  "  But  Rufus  was  too  handsome — he 
wanted  to  wear  shiny  boots  always  " 

Elizabeth  walked  off. 

So  it  was  not  till  the  early  part  of  Oct  ober  that  the  little  boat 
was  painted  and  dried  and  in  the  water ;  and  very  nice  she 
looked.  Painted  in  the  old  colours ;  Elizabeth  had  been  particu- 
lar about  that.  Rose  in  the  meantime  had  been  heard  from. 
She  was  coming,  very  soon,  only  staying  for  something,  it  wasn't 
very  clearly  made  out  what,  that  would  however  let  her  go  in  a 
few  days.  Elizabeth  threw  the  letter  down,  with  the  mental 
conclusion  that  it  was  "just  like  Rose;  "  and  resolved  that  her 
arms  should  be  in  a  good  state  of  training  before  the  '  few  days' 
were  over. 

"  Who's  goin'  in  this  little  concern  ? "  said  Mr.  Underhill 
as  he  pushed  it  into  the  water.  "  Looks  kind  o'  handsome, 
don't  it  ?  " 

"  Very  nice ! "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  That  old  black  ibller  ain't  up  to  rowin'  you  anywhere,  is  he  ? 
I  don't  believe  he  is." 

"  I'll  find  a  way  to  get  about  in  her,  somehow." 

"  You  must  come  aver  and  see  our  folks — over  the  other  side. 
My  old  mother's  a  great  notion  to  see  you — "  said  he,  pulling  the 
boat  round  into  place, — "  and  I  like  she  should  have  what  she's 
a  fancy  for." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Elizabeth ;  with  about  as  much  heed  to 
his  words  as  if  a  coney  had  requested  her  to  take  a  look  into  his 
burrow.  But  a  few  minutes  after,  some  thought  made  her 
speak  again. 

"  Have  you  a  mother  living,  sir  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  he  said  with  a  little  laugh,  "  she  ain't  a  great  deal 
older  than  I  be.  She's  as  spry  in  her  mind,  as  she  was  when  she 
was  sixteen.     Now — will  you  get  into  this  ?  " 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Not  now.     Whereabouts  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Just  over,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  and  across  the  river, — "  the  only  house  you  can  see, 
under  the  mountain  there — just  under  Wut-a-qut-o.  'Tain't  a  very 
sociable  place  and  we  are  glad  to  see  visiters." 

He  went ;  and  Elizabeth  only  waited  to  have  him  out  of 
sight,  when  she  took  gloves  and  oars  and  planted  herself  in  the 
little  '  Merry-go-round.' 

"  My  arms  won't  carry  me  far  to-day,"  she  thought,  as  she 
pushed  away  from  the  rocks  and  slowly  skimmed  out  over  the 
smooth  water.  But  how  sweet  to  be  dappling  it  again  with  her 
oar-blades, — how  gracefully  they  rose  and  fell — how  refreshing 
already  that  slight  movement  of  her  arms — how  deliciously  inde- 
pendent and  alone  she  felt  in  her  light  carriage.  Even  the  thrill 
of  recollection  could  not  overcome  the  instant's  pleasure.  Slowly 
and  lovingly  Elizabeth's  oars  dipped  into  the  water ;  slowly  and 
stealthily  the  little  boat  glided  along.  She  presently  was  far 
enough  out  to  see  Mr.  Underbill's  bit  of  a  farmhouse,  sitting  brown 
and  lone  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  close  by  the  water's  edge.  Eliza- 
beth lay  on  her  oars  and  stopped  and  looked  at  it. 

"  Go  over  there  !  Ridiculous  !  Why  should  I  ? " 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  ?"  came  in  another  whisper.  "Do 
me  no  harm — give  them  some  pleasure.  It  is  doing  as  I  would 
be  done  by." 

"  But  I  can't  give  pleasure  to  all  the  old  women  in  the  land," 
she  went  on  with  excessive  disgust  at  the  idea. 

"  And  this  is  only  one  old  woman,"  went  on  the  other  quiet 
whisper, — "  and  kindness  is  kindness,  especially  to  the  old  and 
lonesome. " 

It  was  very  disagreeable  to  think  of;  Elizabeth  rebelled  at 
it  strongly;  but  she  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  Win- 
throp  in  her  place  would  go,  and  would  make  himself  exceedingly 
acceptable ;  she  knew  he  would ;  and  in  the  light  of  that  idea, 
more  than  of  any  other  argument  that  could  be  brought  to  bear, 
Elizabeth's  conscience  troubled  her.  She  lay  still  on  her  oars 
now  and  then  to  think  about  it ;  she  could  not  go  on  and  get  rid 
of  the  matter.  She  pondered  Winthrop's  fancied  doing  in  the 
circumstances ;  she  knew  how  he  would  comport  himself  among 
these  poor  people ;  she  felt  it ;  and  then  it  suddenly  flashed 
across  her  mind,  "  Even  Christ  pleased  not  himself;  " — and  she 
knew  then  why  Winthrop  did  not.  Elizabeth's  head  drooped  for 
a  minute.    "  I'll  go," — she  said  to  herself. 

Her  head  was  raised  again  then,  and  with  a  good  will  the 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  463 

oars  made  the  little  boat  go  over  the  water.  She  was  elated  to 
find  her  arms  so  strong,  stronger  now  than  they  had  been  five 
minutes  ago ;  and  she  took  her  way  down  towards  the  bottom 
of  the  bay,  where  once  she  had  gone  lmckleberrying,  and  where  a 
rich  growth  of  wood  covered  the  banks  and  shewed  in  one  or  two 
of  its  members  here  and  there  already  a  touch  of  frost.  Here 
and  there  an  orange  or  reddish  branch  of  maple  leaves — a  yellow- 
headed  butternut,  partly  bare — a  ruddying  dogwood  or  dogwood's 
family  connection, — a  hickory  shewing  suspicions  of  tawny  among 
its  green.  A  fresh  and  rich  wall-side  of  beauty  the  woody  bank 
was.  Elizabeth  pulled  slowly  along,  coasting  the  green  wilder- 
ness, exulting  in  her  freedom  and  escape  from  all  possible  forms 
of  home  annoyance  and  intrusion ;  but  that  exulting,  only  a  very 
sad  break  in  a  train  of  weary  and  painful  thoughts  and  remem- 
brances. It  was  the  only  break  to  them.;  for  just  then  sorrow- 
ful things  had  got  the  upper  hand ;  and  even  the  Bible  promises 
to  which  she  had  clung,  and  the  faith  that  laid  hold  of  them,  and 
the  hopes  that  grew  out  of  them,  could  not  make  her  be  other 
than  downcast  and  desponding.  Even  a  Christian  life,  all  alone 
in  the  world,  with  nobody  and  for  nobody,  seemed  desolate  and 
uncheering.  Winthrop  Landholm  led  such  a  life,  and  was  not 
desolate,  nor  uncheered. — "  But  he  is  very  different  from  me ;  he 
has  been  long  a  traveller  on  the  road  where  my  unsteady  feet 
have  but  just  set  themselves ;  he  is  a  man  and  I  am  a  woman  !  " 
— And  once  Elizabeth  even  laid  down  her  oars,  and  her  head  upon 
the  hands  that  had  held  them,  to  shed  the  tears  that  would  have 
theL*  own  peculiar  way  of  comfort  and  relief.  The  bay,  and  the 
boat,  and  the  woody  shore,  and  the  light,  and  the  time  of  year, 
all  had  too  much  to  say  about  her  causes  of  sorrow.  But  tears 
wrought  their  own  relief;  and  again  able  to  bear  the  burden 
of  life,  Elizabeth  pulled  slowly  and  quietly  homewards. 

Looking  behind  her  as  she  neared  the  rocks,  to  make  sure 
that  she  was  approaching  them  in  a  right  direction,  she  was 
startled  to  see  a  man*s  figure  standing  there.  Startled,  because 
it  was  not  the  bent-shouldered  form  of  Mr.  Underhill,  nor  the 
slouching  habit  of  Anderese ;  but  tall,  stately  and  well  put  on. 
It  was  too  far  to  see  the  face ;  and  in  her  one  startled  look  Eliza- 
beth did  not  distinctly  recognize  anything.  Her  heart  gave  a 
pang  of  a  leap  at  the  possibility  of  its  being  Winthrop  ;  but  she 
could  not  tell  whether  it  were  he  or  no ;  she  could  not  be  sure 
that  it  was,  yet  who  else  should  come  there  with  that  habit  of  a 
gentleman  ?  Could  Mr.  Brick  ? — No,  he  had  never  such  an  air, 
t^en  at  a  distance.     It  was  not  Mr.  Brick.     Neither  was  it  Mr. 


4:64  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

Herder ;  Mr.  Herder  was  too  short.  Every  nerve  now  trembled, 
and  her  arms  pulled  nervously  and  weakly  her  boat  to  the  shore. 
When  might  she  look  again  ?  She  did  not  till  she  must ;  then 
her  look  went  first  to  the  rocks,  with  a  vivid  impression  of  that 
dark  figure  standing  above  them,  seen  and  not  seen — she  guided 
her  boat  in  carefully — then  just  grazing  the  rocks  she  looked  up. 
The  pang  and  the  start  came  again,  for  though  not  Winthrop  it 
was  Winthrop's  brother.     It  was  Rufus. 

The  nervousness  and  the  flutter  quieted  themselves,  almost ; 
but  probably  Elizabeth  could  not  have  told  then  by  the  impulse 
of  what  feeling  or  feelings  it  was,  that  she  coolly  looked  down 
again  and  gave  her  attention  so  steadily  and  minutely  to  the  care- 
ful bestowment  of  her  skiff,  before  she  would  set  foot  on  the  rocks 
and  give  her  hand  and  eye  to  the  person  who  had  been  waiting 
to  claim  them.  By  what  impulse  also  she  left  it  to  him  entirely 
to  say  what  he  was  there  for,  and  gave  him  no  help  whatever  in 
her  capacity  of  hostess. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me,''  said  Rufus  after  he  had 
shaken  the  lady's  hand  and  helped  her  on  shore. 

"  Rather.     I  could  not  imagine  at  first  who  it  might  be." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  looking  so  well,"  said  the  gentleman 
gravely.     "  Very  well  indeed." 

"  It  is  the  flush  of  exercise,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  was  not 
looking  well,  a  little  while  ago  ;  and  shall  not  be,  in  a  little  time 
to  come." 

"  Rowing  is  good  for  you,"  said  Rufus. 

"  It  is  pleasant,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  do  it  for  the  pleasant- 
ness, not  for  the  goodness." 

"  Rather  severe  exercise,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  Elizabeth  a  little  scornfully.  "  I  am  not 
strong-armed  just  now — but  it  is  nothing  to  move  a  boat  like 
that." 

"  Some  ladies  would  not  think  so." 

They  had  been  slowly  moving  up  the  path  towards  the  house. 
As  they  reached  the  level  of  the  grassy  garden  ground,  where 
the  path  took  a  turn,  Rufus  stopped  and  faced  about  upon  the 
river.  The  fair  October  evening  air  and  light  were  there,  over 
the  water  and  over  the  land. 

"  It  is  beautiful !  "  he  said  somewhat  abstractedly. 

"  You  are  not  so  fond  of  it  as  your  brother,  Mr.  Landholm," 
said  Elizabeth. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

There  was  quick  annoyance  in  his  tone,  but  Miss  Have  was 
not  careful. 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUO.  465 

"  Am  I  wrong  ?     Are  you  as  fond  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rufus.  "  His  life  has  been  as  steadily 
given  to  his  pursuits  as  mine  has  to  mine." 

"  Perhaps  more.  But  what  then  ?  I  always  thought  you 
loved  the  city." 

"  Yes,"  Rufus  said  thoughtfully,—"  I  did;— but  I  love  this 
too.     It  would  be  a  very  cold  head  and  heart  that  did  not." 

Elizabeth  made  no  reply ;  and  the  two  enjoyed  it  in  silence 
for  a  minute  or  two  longer. 

"  For  what  do  you  suppose  I  have  intruded  upon  you  at  this 
time,  Miss  Haye  ?  " 

"  For  some  particular  purpose — what,  I  don't  know.  I  have 
been  trying  to  think." 

"  I  did  not  venture  to  presume  upon  making  an  ordinary  call 
of  civility." 

What  less  are  you  going  to  do  ?~ — thought  Elizabeth,  looking 
at  him  with  her  eyes  a  little  opened. 

"  I  have  been — for  a  few  months  past — constantly  engaged  in 
business  at  the  South ;  and  it  is  but  a  chance  which  permitted 
me  to  come  here  lately — I  mean,  to  Mannahatta — on  a  visit  to 
my  brother.    I  am  not  willing  to  let  slip  any  such  opportunity." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  not,"  said  Elizabeth,  wondering. 

"  There  I  heard  of  you. — Shall  we  walk  down  again  ?  " 

"  If  you  please.    I  don't  care  whether  up  or  down." 

11 1  could  not  go  home  without  turning  a  little  out  of  my  way 
to  pay  this  visit  to  you.     I  hope  I  shall  be  forgiven." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  have  to  forgive,  yet,"  said  Elizabeth. 

He  was  silent,  and  bit  his  lip  nervously. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  say — that  I  look  back  with  great 
pleasure  to  former  times  passed  in  your  society — in  Mannahatta ; — 
that  in  those  days  I  once  ventured  to  entertain  a  thought  which 
I  abandoned  as  hopeless, — I  had  no  right  to  hope, — but  that  since 
I  have  heard  of  the  misfortunes  which  have  befallen  you,  it  has 
come  back  to  me  again  with  a  power  I  have  not  had  the  strength 
to  resist —  along  with  my  sympathy  for  those  misfortunes.  Dear 
Miss  Haye,  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness  and  noble  interpretation, 
when  I  say  that  I  have  dared  to  confess  this  to  you  from  the 
impulse  of  the  very  circumstances  which  make  it  seem  most 
daring." 

"  The  misfortunes  you  allude  to,  are  but  one,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  One — yes, — but  not  one  in  the  consequences  it  involved." 

"  At  that  rate  of  reckoning,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  there  would  be 
no  such  a  thing  as  one  misfortune  in  the  world." 

20* 


466  THE  HELLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  one,"  said  Kufus  quietly.  "  The 
actual  loss  you  have  suffered  is  one  shared  by  many — pardon  me, 
it  does  not  always  imply  equal  deprivation,  nor  the  same  need  of 
a  strong  and  helping  friendly  hand." 

Elizabeth  answered  with  as  much  quietness, > 

"  It  is  probably  good  for  me  that  I  have  care  on  my  hands — 
it  would  be  a  weak  wish,  however  natural,  to  wish  that  I  could 
throw  off  on  some  agent  the  charge  of  my  affairs." 

"  The  charge  I  should  better  like,"  said  Kufus  looking  at  her, 
— "  the  only  charge  I  should  care  for, — would  be  the  charge  of 
their  mistress." 

An  involuntary  quick  movement  of  Elizabeth  put  several  feet 
between  them ;  then  after  half  a  minute,  with  a  flushed  face  and 
somewhat  excited  breathing,  she  said,  not  knowing  precisely 
what  she  said, 

"  I  would  rather  give  you  the  charge  of  my  property,  sir. 
The  other  is,  you  don't  very  well  know  what." 

"  My  brother  would  be  the  better  person  to  perform  the  first 
duty,  probably,"  Kufus  returned,  with  a  little  of  his  old-fashioned 
haughtiness  of  style. 

Elizabeth's  lips  parted  and  her  eye  flashed,  but  as  she  was 
not  looking  at  him,  it  only  flashed  into  the  water.  Both  stood 
proudly  silent  and  still.  Elizabeth  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  her 
tone  was  gentle,  whatever  the  words  might  be. 

"  You  cannot  have  your  wish  in  this  matter,  Mr.  Landholm, 
and  it  would  be  no  blessing  to  you  if  you  could.  I  trust  it  will 
be  no  great  grief  to  you  that  you  cannot." 

"  My  grief  is  my  own,"  said  Kufus  with  a  mixture  of  expres- 
sions. "  How  should  that  be  no  blessing  to  me,  which  it  is  the 
greatest  desire  of  my  life  to  obtain,  Miss  Haye  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  is,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  At  least  it  will  not 
be,  You  will  find  that  it  is  not.  It  is  not  the  desire  of  mine, 
Mr.  Landholm." 

There  was  silence  again,  a  mortified  silence  on  one  part, — 
for  a  little  space. 

"  You  will  do  justice  to  my  motives  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  have  a 
right  to  ask  that,  for  I  deserve  so  much  of  you.  If  my  suit  had 
been  an  ungenerous  one,  it  might  better  have  been  pressed  years 
ago  than  now." 

"  Why  was  it  not  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

It  was  the  turn  of  Kufus's  eyes  to  flash,  and  his  lips  and 
teeth  saluted  each  other  vexedly. 

"  It  would  probably  have  been  as  unavailing  then  as  now," 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  467 

he  replied.  "  I  bid  you  good  evening,  Miss  Haye.  I  ask  nothing 
from  you.  I  beg  pardon  for  my  unfortunate  and  inopportune  in- 
trusion just  now.     I  shall  annoy  you  no  more." 

Elizabeth  returned  his  parting  bow,  and  then  stood  quite  still 
where  he  left  her  while  he  walked  up  the  path  they  had  just 
come  down.  She  did  not  move,  except  her  head,  till  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight  and  was  quite  gone;  then  she  seated  herself 
on  one  of  the  rocks  near  which  her  boat  was  moored,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  round  her  knees,  looked  down  into  the  water. 
What  to  find  there  ? — the  grounds  of  the  disturbance  in  which 
her  whole  nature  was  working  ?  it  lay  deeper  than  that.  It 
wrought  and  wrought,  whatever  it  was — the  colour  flushed  and 
the  lips  moved  tremulously, — her  brow  knit, — till  at  last  the 
hands  came  to  her  eyes  and  her  face  sunk  down,  and  passionate 
tears,  passionate  sobbing,  told  what  Elizabeth  could  tell  in  no 
other  way.     Tears  proud  and  humble — rebelling  and  submitting. 

"  It  is  good  for  me,  I  suppose,"  she  said  as  she  at  last  rose  to 
her  feet,  fearing  that  her  handmaid  might  come  to  seek  her, — 
"  my  proud  heart  needed  to  be  brought  down  in  some  such  way 
— needed  to  be  mortified  even  to  this.  Even  to  this  last  point  of 
humiliation.  To  have  my  desire  come  and  mock  me  so  and  as  it 
were  shake  my  wish  in  my  face  !  But  how  could  he  think  of  me  ? 
— he  could  not — he  is  too  good — and  I  am  a  poor  thing,  that  may 
be  made  good,  I  suppose " 

Tears  flowed  again,  hot  and  unbidden ;  for  she  was  walking 
up  to  the  house  and  did  not  want  anybody  to  see  them.  And  in 
truth  before  she  was  near  the  house  Clam  came  out  and  met  her 
half  way  down  the  path. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth, — I  don'  know  as  you  want  to  see  nobody — " 

"  Who  is  there  foi  me  to  see  ?  " 

"  WTell — there's  an  arrival— I  s'pect  we'll  have  to  have  supper 
in  the  kitchen  tcxnighiL" 


CHAPTEE    XLI. 

With  weary  steps  I  loiter  on, 

Though  always  under  altered  skies 

The  purple  from  the  distance  dies, 
My  prospect  and  horizon  gone. 

Tennysox. 

Whether  or  not  Elizabeth  wanted  to  see  anybody  sle  did 
not  say — except  to  herself.  She  walked  into  the  house,  fortified 
with  all  the  muniments  of  her  spirit  for  the  meeting.  It  was  a 
quiet  one  on  the  whole.  Rose  cried  a  good  deal,  but  Elizabeth 
bore  it  without  any  giving  way ;  saving  once  or  twice  a  slight 
twinkling  of  lip  and  eye,  instantly  commanded  back.  Rose  had 
all  the  demonstration  to  herself,  of  whatever  kind.  Elizabeth 
sat  still,  silent  and  pale ;  and  when  she  could  get  free  went  and 
ordered  supper. 

The  supper  was  in  Mrs.  Landholm's  old  kitchen ;  they  two 
alone  at  the  table.  Perhaps  Elizabeth  thought  of  the  old  time, 
perhaps  her  thoughts  had  enough  to  do  with  the  present ;  she 
was  silent,  grave  and  stern,  not  wanting  in  any  kind  care  never- 
theless. Rose  iook  tears  and  bread  and  butter  by  turns ;  and 
then  sat  with  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  all  the  evening.  It 
seemed  a  very,  very  long  evening  to  her  hostess,  whose  face  be- 
spoke her  more  tired,  weary,  and  grave,  with  every  succeeding 
half  hour.  Why  was  this  companion,  whose  company  of  all 
others  she  least  loved,  to  be  yet  her  sole  and  only  companion,  of 
all  the  world  ?  Elizabeth  by  turns  fretted  and  by  turns  scolded 
herself  for  being  ungrateful,  since  she  confessed  that  even  Rose 
was  better  for  her  than  to  be  utterly  alone.  Yet  Rose  was  a  bless- 
ing that  greatly  irritated  her  composure  and  peace  of  mind.  So 
the  evening  literally  wore  away.    But  when  at  last  Rose  was  kiss- 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  469 

ing  her  hostess  for  good  night,  between  sobs  she  stammered,  M  I 
am  very  glad  to  be  here  Lizzie, — it  seems  like  being  at  home 
again." 

Elizabeth  gave  her  no  answer  besides  the  answering  kiss  ;  but 
her  eyes  filled  full  at  that,  and  as  soon  as  she  reached  her  own 
room  the  tears  came  in  long  and  swift  flow,  but  sweeter  and 
gentler  and  softer  than  they  had  flowed  lately.  And  very  thank- 
ful that  she  had  done  right,  very  soothed  and  refreshed  that  her 
right  doing  had  promised  to  work  good,  she  laid  herself  down 
to  sleep. 

But  her  eyes  had  hardly  closed  when  the  olick  of  her  door- 
latch  made  them  open  again.  Rose's  pretty  night-cap  was  present- 
ing itself. 

"  Lizzie ! — aren't  you  afraid  without  a  xsan  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  house." 

*  Is  there  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Anderese — Karen's  brother." 

"  But  he  is  old." 

"  He's  a  man." 

"  But  aren't  you  ever  afraid  ?  " 

"  It's  no  use  to  be  afraid,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  am  accustomed 
to  it.     I  don't  often  think  of  it." 

"  I  heard  such  queer  noises,"  said  Rose  whispering.  "  I 
didn't  think  of  anything  before,  either.     May  I  come  in  here  ?  " 

"  It's  of  no  use,  Rose,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  You  would  be 
just  as  m  ich  afraid  to-morrow  night.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
world  tc  be  afraid  of." 

Rose  slowly  took  her  night-cap  away  and  Elizabeth's  head 
went  down  on  her  pillow.  But  her  closing  eyes  opened  again  at 
the  click  of  the  latah  of  the  other  door. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth  ! " 

"  Well,  Clam  ? " 

"  Karen's  all  alive,  and  says  she  ain't  goin'  to  live  no  longer." 

"  What !— " 

"Karen." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Maybe  she's  goin',  as  she  says  she  is ;  but  I  think  maybe 
she  ain't." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  jumping  up. 

"  In  here,"  said  Clam.     "  She  won't  die  out  of  the  kitchen." 

Elizabeth  threw  on  her  dressing-gown  and  hurried  out; 
thinking  by  the  way  that  sne  had  got  into  a  thorn  forest  of 
difficulties,  and  wishing  the  daylight  would  look  through.    Karen 


470  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

was  sitting  "before  the  fire,  wrapped  up  in  shawls,  in  the  rocking 
chair. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Karen  ?  " 

Karen's  reply  was  to  break  forth  into  a  tremulous  scrap  ol 
her  old  song, — 

M  '  I'm  going, — I'm  going, — I'm  going, * 

a  Stop,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Don't  sing.  Tell  me  whatb  mo 
matter." 

"  It's  nothin'  else,  Miss  Lizzie,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  I'm 
goin' — I  think  I  be." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  I  don't  feel  no  ways,  somehow ; — it's  a  kinder  givin'  away. 
[  think  I'm  just  goin',  ma'am." 

"  But  what  ails  you,  Karen  ?  " 

a  It's  time,"  said  Karen,  jerking  herself  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  her  rocking-chair.  "  I'm  seventy  years  and  more  old. 
I  hain't  got  no  more  work  to  do.  I'm  goin' ;  and  I'm  ready, 
praise  the  Lord  !  They're  most  all  gone  ; — and  the  rest  is  comin' 
after  ; — it's  time  old  Karen  was  there." 

"  But  that's  no  sign  you  mayn't  live  longer,"  said  Elizabeth. 
u  Seventy  years  is  nothing.     How  do  you  feel  sick  ?  " 

"  It's  all  over,  Miss  Lizzie,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  Its  givin' 
away.     I'm  goin' — I  know  I  be.     The  time's  come." 

a  I  will  send  Anderese  for  a  doctor — where  is  there  one  ?  " 

Karen  shivered  and  put  her  head  in  her  hands,  before  she 
spoke. 

"  There  ain't  none — I  don't  want  none — there  was  Doctor 
Kipp  to  Mountain  Spring,  but  he  ain't  no  'count ;  and  he's  gone 
away." 

"  Clam,  do  speak  to  Anderese  and  ask  him  about  it,  and  tell 
him  to  go  directly,  if  there  is  any  one  he  can  go  for. — What  can 
I  do  for  you,  Karen  ?  " 

"  I  guess  nothin',  Miss  Lizzie. — If  the  Governor  was  here, 
he'd  pray  for  me ;  but  it  ain't  no  matter — I've  been  prayin'  all 
my  life — It's  no  matter  if  I  can't  pray  good  just  right  now.  The 
Lord  knows  all." 

Elizabeth  stood  silent  and  still. 

"  Shall  I — would  you  like  to  have  me  read  for  you  ?  "  she 
asked  somewhat  timidly. 

"  No,"  said  Karen — "not  now — I  couldn't  hear.  Read  for 
yourself,  Miss  Lizzie.     I  wish  the  Governor  was  here." 


THE  HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  471 

What  a  throbbing  wish  to  the  same  effect  was  in  Elizabeth's 
heart !  She  stood,  silent,  sorrowful,  dismayed,  watching  Karen, 
wondering  at  herself  in  her  changed  circumstances  and  life  and 
occupation ;  and  wondering  if  she  were  only  going  down  into  the 
valley  of  humiliation,  or  if  she  had  got  to  the  bottom.  And 
almost  thinking  Karen  to  be  envied  if  she  were,  as  she  said, 
going.' 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Eose  and  her  night-cap  at  the 
other  door. 

"  Karen  don't  feel  very  well.     Don't  come  here,  Rose." 

M  What  are  you  there  for  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  be  here.  You  go  to  bed  ind  keep  quiet — I'll  tell 
you  another  time." 

"  Is  she  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  don't  know — Go  in,  Rose  and  be  yuiet !  " 

Which  Rose  did.  Clam  came  back  and  reported  that  thero 
was  no  doctor  to  be  sent  for,  short  of  a  great  many  miles.  Eliza- 
beth's heart  sunk  fearfully.  What  could  she  and  her  companions 
do  with  a  dying  woman  ? — if  she  were  really  that.  Karen  crept 
nearer  the  fire,  and  Clam  built  it  up  and  made  it  blaze.  Then 
she  stood  on  one  side,  and  her  young  mistress  on  the  other. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  said  Clam.     "  I'll  see  to  her." 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  move  so  much  as  an  eyelid. 

"  I  don't  want  nothin',"  said  Karen  presently.  "  Miss  Lizzie, 
if  you  see  the  Governor — tell  him — " 

"  Tell  him  what  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  to  hold  on, — will  you  ? — the  way  his  mother  went 
and  the  w'ty  he's  a  goin'.  Tell  him  to  hold  on  till  he  gets  there. 
Will  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly  1  I  will  tell  him  anything  you  please." 

Karen  was  silent  for  a  liv>tle  space,  and- then  began  again, 

"  Is't  your  way  ?  " 

Elizabeth's  lips  moved  a  little,  but  they  closed  and  she  made 
no  answer. 

"  Mis'  Landholm  went  that  way,  and  Governor's  goin',  and 
I'm  goin'  too. 

"  *  I'm  going, — I'm  going,— I'm '  * 

"  Do  you  feel  better,  Karen?  "  said  Elizabeth  interrupting  her. 

"  I'm  goin' — I  don'  know  how  soon  axactly,  Miss  Lizzie — . 
but  I  feel  it.  I  am  all  givin'  away.  It's  time.  I've  seen  my 
life  all  through,  and   I'm  ready.     I'm  ready — praise  the  Lord. 


472  THE    HILL8    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

I  was  ready  a  great  while  ago,  but  it  wa'n't  the  Lord's  time 
and  now  if  he  pleases,  I'm  ready." 

"  Wouldn't  you  feel  better  if  you  were  to  go  to  your  own  room 
and  lie  down  ?  " 

Karen  made  no  answer  for  some  time  and  then  only  was  half 
understood  to  say  that  "  this  was  the  best  place."  Elizabeth  did 
not  move.  Clam  fetched  a  thick  coarse  coverlid  and  wrapping 
herself  in  it,  lay  down  at  full  length  on  the  floor. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Miss  'Lizabeth, — I'm  settled.  I'll  see  to  her. 
I  guess  she  ain't  goin'  afore  mornin'." 

"  You  will  go  to  sleep,  Clam,  and  then  she  will  have  nobody 
to  do  anything  for  her." 

"  I'll  wake  up  once  in  a  while,  Miss  'Lizabeth,  to  see  she  don't 
do  no  thin'  to  me." 

Elizabeth  stood  another  minute,  thinking  bitterly  how  in- 
valuable Winthrop  would  be,  in  the  very  place  where  she  knew 
herself  so  valueless.  Another  sharp  contrast  of  their  two  selves ; 
and  then  she  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  fire  and  sat  down  too ;  de- 
termined at  least  to  do  the  little  she  could  do,  give  her  eyes  and 
her  presence.  Clam's  entreaties  and  representations  were  of  no 
avail.     Karen  made  none. 

They  watched  by  her,  or  at  least  Elizabeth  did,  through  hour 
after  hour.  She  watched  alone,  for  Clam  slept  and  snored  most 
comfortably ;  and  Karen's  poor  head  much  of  the  time  rested  in 
her  hands.  Whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  she  was  very 
quiet ;  and  her  watcher  trimmed  the  fire  and  mused  with  no  in- 
terruption. At  first  with  much  fear  and  trembling  ;  for  she  did 
not  know  how  soon  Karen's  prophecy  might  come  true ;  but  as 
the  night  wore  on  and  no  change  was  to  be  seen  or  felt,  this  feel- 
ing quieted  down  and  changed  into  a  very  sober  and  sad  review 
of  all  the  things  of  her  own  life,  in  the  past  and  in  the  future. 
The  present  was  but  a  point,  she  did  not  dwell  on  it ;  yet  in  that 
point  was  the  sweetest  and  fairest  thing  her  mind  had  in  posses- 
sion ;  her  beginning  of  a  new  life  and  her  hold  of  the  promise 
which  assured  her  that  strength  should  not  be  wanting  to  live  it 
until  the  end.  She  did  look  over  her  several  present  duties  and 
made  up  her  mind  to  the  self-denying  and  faithful  performance 
of  them  ;  but  then  her  longing  came  back,  for  a  human  hand  to 
hold  her  and  help  her  on  the  journey's  way.  And  her  head  bowed 
to  the  chair-back ;  and  it  was  a  good  while  before  she  recollected 
again  to  look  at  the  fire  or  at  her  charge  in  front  of  it. 

Karen's  attitude  was  more  easy ;  and  Elizabeth  excessively 
fatigued,  with  pain  as  well  as  weariness,  felt  inclined  to  steal 


TIIE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUO.  473 

off  to  Led  and  leave  her  door  open,  that  she  might  readily  hear 
if  she  was  wanted.  But  it  occurred  to  her  that  Winthrop  for 
his  own  ease  never  would  have  deserted  his  post.  She  dismissed 
the  thought  of  sleep  and  rest ;  and  disposed  herself  to  wear  out  the 
remnant  of  the  night  as  she  had  begun  it ;  in  attendance  on  what 
she  was  not  sure  needed  her  attendance. 

A  longer  night  Elizabeth  never  knew,  and  with  fear  in  the 
first  part  and  watching  in  the  last  part  of*  it,  the  morning  found 
her  really  haggard  and  ill.  But  Karen  was  no  worse ;  and  not 
knowing  what  to  think  about  her,  but  comforting  herself  with 
the  hope  that  at  least  her  danger  was  not  imminent,  Elizabeth 
went  to  bed,  coveting  sleep  inexpressibly,  for  its  forgetfulness  as 
well  as  its  rest.     But  sleep  was  not  to  be  had  so  promptly. 

"  Miss  'Lizabeth  ! — "  And  there  stooa  Clam  before  her  open- 
ing eyes,  as  fresh  and  as  black  as  ever,  with  a  clean  turban  in  the 
last  state  of  smartness. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Where  will  you  have  breakfast  ?  Karen  ain't  goin'  at  all  at 
present.     Where  will  you  have  it  ?  " 

"  Nowhere." 

"  Will  I  clear  her  out  of  the  kitchen  ?  " 

"  No  ! — let  her  alone.  Mrs.  Haye's  woman  may  see  to  break- 
fast in  her  mistress's  room — I  don't  want  anything — but  sleep. 
Let  Karen  have  and  do  just  what  she  wants." 

"  Won't  Clam  do  as  much ! " — said  the  toss  of  the  clean 
turban  as  its  owner  went  out  of  the  room.  And  the  issue  was, 
a  very  nice  little  breakfast  brought  to  Miss  Haye's  bed-side  in 
the  space  of  half  an  hour.  Elizabeth  was  waked  up  and  looked 
dubious. 

"  You  want  it,"  said  her  handmaid.  "  The  Governor  said 
you  was  to  take  it." 

"  Is  he  here  !  "  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  with  an  amount  of  fire 
in  eye  and  action  that,  as  Clam  declared  afterwards,  "  had 
like  to  have  made  her  upset  everything."  But  she  answered 
demurely, 

"  He  ain't  here  just  yet.     I  guess  he's  comin',  though." 

Elizabeth's  eye  went  down,  and  an  eye  as  observant  if  not  so 
brilliant  as  her  own,  watched  how  the  pink  tinge  rose  and  mounted 
in  the  cheeks  as  she  betook  herself  to  the  bread  and  coffee. 
u  Ain't  she  eatin'  her  breakfast  like  a  good  child  !  "  said  Clam  to 
herself.     "  That  put  her  down." 

And  with  a  "Now  you'll  sleep — "  Clam  carried  off  the 
breakfast   tray,    and   took    care   her  mistress    should   have   no 


474  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

second  disturbance  from  anybody  else.  Elizabeth  only  heard 
once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  day  that  nothing  was  wanted 
from  her ;    so  slept  her  sleep  out. 

It  was  slept  out  at  last,  and  Elizabeth  got  up  and  began  to 
dress.  Or  rather,  took  her  dressing-comb  in  hand  and  planted 
herself  in  front  of  the  window,  and  there  forgot  what  she  had  to 
do.  It  was  a  fine  afternoon  of  October,  late  in  the  day.  It  was 
very  fair  outside.  The  hills  touched  here  and  there  in  their  green 
with  a  frost-spot — yellow,  or  tawny,  or  red  ;  the  river  water  lying 
very  calm ;  and  a  calm  sky  over-head ;  the  air  as  pure  as  though 
vapours  and  mists  were  refined  away  for  ever.  The  distant  trees 
of  the  woodland  shewed  in  round  distinct  masses  of  foliage,  through 
such  an  atmosphere ;  the  rocky  shore  edge  cut  sharp  against  the 
water ;  the  nearer  cedars  around  the  home  valley  seemed  to  tell 
their  individual  leaves.  Here  and  there  in  some  one  of  them  a 
Virginia  creeper's  luxuriant  wreaths  were  colouring  with  sus- 
picious tokens  of  crimson.  Not  in  their  full  brilliancy  yet,  the 
trees  and  the  vine-leaves  were  in  fair  preparation;  and  fancy 
could  not  imagine  them  more  fair  than  they  looked  that  afternoon. 

"  So  bright  without  ! — and  so  dark  within  !  " — Elizabeth 
thought.  "  When  will  it  end — or  is  it  only  beginning  ?  Such 
a  flood  of  brightness  was  over  me  a  little  while  ago, — and  now, 
there  is  one  burden  in  one  room,  and  another  in  another  room,  and 
I  myself  am  the  greatest  burden  of  all.  Because  my  life  has 
nothing  to  look  forward  to — in  this  world — and  heaven  is  not 
enough  ;  I  want  something  in  this  world. — Yes,  I  do. — Yet  Win- 
throp  Landholm  has  nothing  more  than  I  have,  in  this  world's 
things,  and  he  don't  feel  like  me.  What  is  the  reason  ?  Why  is 
his  face  always  so  at  rest, — so  bright — so  strong  ?  Ah,  it  must  be 
that  he  is  so  much  better  than  I ! — he  has  more,  not  of  this 
world's  things ;  religion  is  something  to  him  that  it  is  not  to  me ; 
he  must  love  hij  Master  far  better  than  I  do. — Then  religion 
might  be  more  to  me. — It  shall  be — I  will  try ; — but  oh !  if  I 
had  never  seen  another  Christian  in  all  my  life,  how  well  his 
single  example  would  make  me  know  that  religion  is  a  strong 
reality.  What  a  reward  his  will  be  !  I  wonder  how  many  besides 
me  he  will  have  drawn  to  heaven — he  does  not  dream  that  he  has 
ever  done  me  any  good.  Yet  it  is  pleasant  to  owe  so  much  to 
him — and  it's  bitter ! " 

"  You'll  tire  yourself  with  lookin',  Miss  'Lizabeth,"  said  Clam 
behind  her.     "  Mannahatta  ain't  so  far  off  as  that." 

Elizabeth  started  a  little  from  her  fixed  attitude  and  began 
to  handle  her  dressing-comb. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  475 

"  'Taint  so  far  folks  can't  get  here,  I  guess." 

"  Clam  !  " — said  her  mistress  facing  about. 

"  Well,  Miss  Lizzie " 

"  Go  and  take  care  of  Karen.     I  don't  want  you." 

" She  don't  want  me,"  said  Clam.  "And  you've  had  no 
dinner." 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you.     I  shall  not  have  any." 

With  this  spur,  Elizabeth  was  soon  dressed,  and  then  walked 
into  Mrs.  Haye's  room.     Rose  apparently  had  had  leisure  for 
meditation   and  had   made  up   her  mind  upon  several  things ; 
but  her  brow  changed  as  her  cousin  came  in. 

"  Lizzie  ! — Why  you've  been  up  all  night,  Emma  says." 

"  That's  nothing.     I  have  been  down  all  day." 

"  But  what's  the  matter  with  this  old  woman  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     She  don't  know  herself." 

"But  Emma  said  she  thought  she  was  dying  ?  " 

"  So  she  did.     I  don't  know  whether  she  is  right  or  not." 

"  Dying ! — is  she  !  "  said  Rose  with  a  little  scream. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  hope  not,  so  soon  as  she  thinks.  She  is 
no  worse  to-night." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing — more  than  I  have  done." 

"  But  are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Stay  here,  Rose  !— " 

1  Yes — I  mean — who's  going  to  take  care  of  her  ?  And  isn't, 
she  your  cook  ?  " 

A  curious  quick  gleam  of  a  laugh  passed  over  Elizabeth's  face ; 
it  settled  graver  than  before. 

"  Clam  can  cook  all  you  and  I  want." 

"But  who's  going  to  take  care  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  sent  for  help,  and  for  a  doctor." 

"  Haven't  you  sent  for  a  doctor  before  !  Why  Lizzie  !  " 

"  I  sent  early  this  morning.  The  messenger  had  to  go  a  num- 
ber of  miles." 

"And  isn't  there  anybody  about  the  house  but  Clam  and 
Emma  ?  " 

"  Anderese  is  here.     I  sent  somebody  else." 

"  What  use  is  an  old  thing  like  that  about  a  place  ?  " 

Elizabeth  was  silent.  The  cloud  gathered  on  Rose's  face,  and 
as  if  that  it  might  not  cast  its  shadow  on  her  cousin,  she  looked 
out  of  the  window.     Then  Clam  came  in. 

"  Where'll  supper  be,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Is  Karen  in  the  kitchen  ?  " 


4XQ  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMTTC. 

"  Oil ! — I  won't  have  tea  in  there  !  "  said  Rose  with  one  of  her 
old  little  screams. 

"  Let  it  be  here,  Clam." 

"  What'll  it  be,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  please." 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  house  to  be  pleased  with,"  said  Clam ; 
"  and  you've  had  no  dinner." 

"  Bread  and  butter  and  tea — and  boil  an  egg." 

"  That  would  be  pleasant,"  said  Clam,  capacity  and  fun  shining 
out  of  every  feature; — "but  Karen's  hens  don't  lay  no  eggs 
when  she  ain't  round." 

"  Bread  and  butter  and  tea,  then." 

"  Butter's  gone,"  said  Clam. 

"  Bread  and  cold  meat,  then." 

"  Fresh  meat  was  all  eat  up  days  ago  ;  and  you  and  Mis'  Haye 
don't  make  no  'count  of  ham." 

Elizabeth  got  up  and  went  out  to  Anderese  and  despatched 
him  to  Mountain  Spring  after  what  forage  he  could  find.  Then 
from  a  sense  of  duty  went  back  to  her  cousin.  Rose  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  again  when  she  came  in,  and  kept  silence  for 
a  little  space ;  but  silence  was  never  Rose's  forte. 

"  Lizzie — what  makes  you  live  in  such  a  place  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  pleasantest  place  I  could  find,"  said  her  cousin, 
with  a  tone  of  suppressed  feeling. 

"  It's  so  lonely !  "  said  Rose. 

"  It  suited  me." 

"  But  it  isn't  safe,"  said  Rose.  "  What  if  something  happened 
to  you,  with  nobody  about, — what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  It  has  not  been  a  subject  of  fear  with  me,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  I  haven't  thought  about  it." 

"  Who  comes  to  see  you  here  ?  anybody  ?  " 

"  No.  Who  should  come?  "  said  Elizabeth  sternly.  "  Whom 
should  I  want  to  see  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  want  to  see  anybody,  ever  ?  I  do.  I  don't  like 
to  be  in  a  desert  so." 

Elizabeth  was  silent,  with  a  set  of  the  lips  that  told  of  thoughts 
at  work. 

"  Doesn't  Winthrop  Landholm  come  here  ?  " 

"  No  ! " 

"  I'm  not  used  to  it,"  said  Rose  whimpering, — "  I  can't  live 
bo.     It  makes  me  feel  dreadfully." 

"  Whom  do  you  want  to  see,  Rose  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  with  an 
expression  that  ought  to  have  reminded  her  companion  whom  she 
was  dealing  with. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMITC.  477 

"  I  don't  care  who — any  one.  It's  dreadful  to  live  so,  and 
see  nothing  but  the  leaves  shaking  and  the  river  rolling  and  this 
great  empty  place." 

"  Empty  !  "  said  Elizabeth,  with  again  a  quick  glancing  laugh. 
"  Well ! — you  are  yourself  yet !  But  at  any  rate  the  leaves  don't 
shake  much  to-day." 

"  They  did  last  night,"  said  Rose.  "  I  was  so  frightened  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do,  and  with  no  man  in  the  house  either, 
good  for  anything — I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  till  after  one  o'clock." 

"  Was  your  sleep  ever  disturbed  by  anything  of  more  import- 
ance than  the  wind  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Rose  in  tears.  "  I 
think  you're  very  unkind  ! " 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  do,  Rose  ?  " 

"  Let's  go  away  from  here." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care — to  Mannahatta." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  in  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing, — what  everybody  does — live  like  other  peo- 
ple.    I  shall  die  here." 

"  Is  the  memory  of  the  best  friend  you  ever  had,  so  little 
worth,  Rose,  that  you  are  in  a  hurry  to  banish  it  your  company 
already  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Rose,  with  one  of  her 
old  pouts  and  then  bursting  into  fresh  weeping.  "  I  don't  know 
why  one  should  be  miserable  any  more  than  one  can  help.  I 
have  been  miserable  enough,  I  am  sure.  Oh  Lizzie  I — I  think 
you're  very  unkind  ! — " 

Elizabeth's  face  was  a  study ;  for  the  fire  in  her  eyes  shone 
through  water,  and  every  feature  was  alive.  But  her  lips  only 
moved  to  tremble. 

"  I  won't  stay  here  !  "  said  Rose.  "  I'll  go  away  and  do 
something.  I  don't  care  what  I  do.  I  dare  say  there's  enough 
left  for  me  to  live  upon ;  and  I  can  do  without  Emma.  I  can 
live  somehow,  if  not  quite  as  well  as  you  do." 

"  Hush,  Rose,  and  keep  a  little  sense  along  with  you,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

"  There  must  be  enough  left  for  me  somehow,"  Rose  went  on, 
sobbing.  "  Nobody  had  any  right  to  take  my  money.  It  was 
mine.  Nobody  else  had  a  right  to  it.  It  is  mine.  I  ought  to 
have  it." 

«  Rose ! " 

Rose  involuntarily  looked  up  at  the  speaker  who  was  standing 


478  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC. 

before  her,  fire  flashing  from  eye  and  lip,  like  the  relations  of 
Queen  Ghilnare  in  the  fairy  story. 

"  Rose  ! — do  not  dare  speak  to  me  in  that  way  ! — ever  again  ! 
■ — whatever  else  you  do.  I  will  leave  you  to  get  back  your 
senses." 

With  very  prompt  and  decided  action,  Miss  Haye  sought 
her  rowing  gloves  in  her  own  room,  put  them  on,  and  went  down 
to  the  rocks  where  the  Merry-go-round  lay.  She  stopped  not  to 
look  at  anything ;  she  loosened  the  boat  and  pushed  out  into  the 
water.  And  quick  and  smartly  the  oars  were  pulled,  till  the 
skiff  was  half  way  over  the  river  towards  Mr.  Underbill's  house. 
Suddenly  there  they  stopped.  Elizabeth's  eyes  were  bent  on  the 
water  about  two  yards  from  the  stern  of  the  boat;  while  the 
paddles  hung  dripping,  dripping  more  and  more  slowly,  at  the 
sides,  and  the  little  skiff  floated  gently  up  with  the  tide.  But  if 
Elizabeth's  eyes  were  looking  into  nature,  it  was  her  own;  her 
face  grew  more  settled  and  grave  and  then  sorrowful  every 
minute ;  and  at  last  the  paddle-handles  were  thrown  across  the 
boat  and  her  arms  and  her  head  rested  upon  them.  And  the 
little  skiff  floated  gently  up  stream. 

It  had  got  some  distance  above  Mr.  Underbill's,  when  its  mis- 
tress lifted  her  head  and  looked  about,  with  wet  eyelashes,  to  see 
where  she  was.  Then  the  boat's  head  was  turned,  and  some  steady 
pulling  brought  her  to  the  gravelly  beach  in  front  of  Mr.  Under- 
bill's house.     Its  owner  was  luckily  there  to  help  her  out. 

"  Well,  I  declare  that's  clever  of  you,"  said  he,  as  he  grasped 
the  bow  of  the  little  vessel  to  draw  it  further  up.  "  I  didn't 
much  expect  you'd  come  when  I  asked  you.  Why  you  can  row, 
real  smart." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  going  to  get  out,  Mr.  Underhill." 

"  Step  up  on  there,  can't  you — I'll  hold  her, — can  you 
jump  ?  " — 

"  But  Mr.  Underhill,  that's  going  to  do  no  good  to  my 
boat. " 

"  What  aint  ? " 


"  That  gravel — grating  and  grinding  on  it,  as  the  tide  makes." 

"  'Twon't  do  nothin' — it'll  just  stay  still  so.  Well,  you  go 
in  and  speak  to  mother,  and  I'll  see  to  her.  I  didn't  know  you 
could  row  so  smart, — real  handsome  !  " 

"  I  learnt  a  good  while  ago,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I'll  not  be 
gone  long,  Mr.  Underhill." 

Up  the  neglected  green  slope  she  ran,  wonderiDg  at  herself  the 
while.     What  new  steps  were  these,  which  Miss  Haye  was  not 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTJC.  479 

taking  for  her  own  pleasure.  What  a  strange  visit  was  this, 
which  her  heart  shrank  from  more  and  more  as  she  neared  the 
house  door. 

The  house  was  tenanted  by  sundry  younger  fry  of  the  femi- 
nine gender,  of  various  ages,  who  met  Elizabeth  with  wonder 
equal  to  her  own,  and  a  sort  of  mixed  politeness  and  curiosity 
to  which  her  experience  had  no  parallel.  By  the  fireside  sat  the 
old  grandam,  very  old,  and  blind,  as  Elizabeth  now  perceived  she 
was.  Miss  Haye  drew  near  with  the  most  utter  want  of  know- 
ledge what  to  do  or  say  to  such  a  person, — how  to  give  the  plea- 
sure she  had  come  to  give.  She  hoped  the  mere  fact  of  her 
coming  and  presence  would  do  it,  for  to  anything  further  she  felt 
herself  unequal.  The  old  lady  looked  up  curiously,  hearing  the 
noise  of  entering  feet  and  a  stranger's  among  them. 

"  Will  you  tell  your  grandmother  who  I  am,"  Elizabeth 
asked,  with  a  shy  ignorance  how  to  address  her,  and  an  exceeding 
reluctance  to  it. 

"  Grand'ma,"  said  the  eldest  girl,  "  here  is  Miss  Haye, — the 
young  lady  from  Shahweetah — she's  here." 

The  old  woman  turned  her  sightless  eyes  towards  her  visiter, 
got  up  and  curtseyed. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Elizabeth,  taking  a  seat  near  her. 
"  Mr.  Underhill  asked  me  some  time  ago  to  come  and  see  his 
mother." 

"  I've  heerd  of  ye,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  'Siah  was  over  to 
your  piace,  makin'  of  a  boat,  or  mendin',  or  somethin',  he  telled 
me.     I'm  glad  to  see  ye.     How  did  ye  come  across  ?  " 

"  In  a  boat — in  the  boat  he  mended  for  me." 

"  Have  you  got  somebody  to  row  ye  over  ? 

"  I  rowed  myself  over." 

"  Why  did  ye  ? — ain't  ye  afeard  ?  I  wouldn't  ha'  thought ! 
'Siah  said  she  was  a  slim  handsome  girl,  as  one  would  see  in  the 
country." 

"  Well  I  can  row,"  said  Elizabeth  colouring ;  for  she  had  an 
instant  sense  that  several  pairs  of  eyes  not  blind  were  comparing 
the  report  with  the  reality. 

"  Be  you  the  owner  of  Shahweetah  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  heerd  it  was  so.     And  what's  become  of  the  old  family  ?  " 

"  They  are  scattered.  Mr.  Landholm  is  gone  West,  with  one 
of  his  sons;  the  others  are  in  different  places." 

"  And  the  girl  is  dead,  ain't  she  ?  " 

"  Winnie  ? — yes." 


480  THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

Elizabeth  knew  that ! 

"  The  mother  was  gone  first — to  a  better  place.  She  had  a 
fine  lot  o'  children.  Will  was  a  pictur ; — the  farmer,  he  was  a 
fine  man  too ; — but  there  was  one — the  second  boy — Winthrop, 
— he  was  the  flower  of  the  flock,  to  my  thinkin'.  I  ha'n't  seen 
him  this  great  while.  He's  been  here  since  I  lost  my  sight,  but 
I  thought  I  could  see  him  when  I  heerd  him  speak." 

There  was  silence.    Elizabeth  did  not  feel  inclined  to  break  it. 

"  Do  you  know  him,  maybe  ?  "  the  old  woman  said  presently. 
Winthrop  had  made  himself  pleasant  there  ! 

"Yes." 

"  Is  he  lookin'  as  well  as  he  used  to  ?  " 

"  Quite  as  well,  I  believe." 

"  Is  he  gettin'  along  well  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  believe  so — very  well." 

"  Whatever  he  does  '11  prosper,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Under- 
bill ;  "for  the  Lord  knoweth  the  way  of  the  righteous.  Is  that 
a  way  you  have  any  knowledge  of,  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Not  much — "  said  Elizabeth  hesitating. 

"  'Siah  says  he  'spects  you're  rich." 

"  What  makes  him  think  so  ?  " 

"  He  says  that's  what  he  'spects.  Does  the  hull  Shahweetah 
farm  belong  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It's  a  good  farm.     Who's  goin'  to  take  care  of  it  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  yet." 

"  I  'spose  you'll  be  gettin'  married,  one  of  these  days,  and 
then  there  '11  be  some  one  to  do  it  for  you.  Be  you  handsome, 
particular,  as  'Siah  says  ?  " 

Elizabeth  coloured  exceedingly,  and  a  tittering  laugh,  some- 
what boisterous,  ran  round  the  group  of  spectators  and  listeners, 
with  a  murmured  "  Oh  Grand'ma  ! — " 

"  Whisht !  " — said  the  old  woman ; — "  I'm  not  talkin'  like 
you.  I'm  old  and  blind.  I  can't  see  for  myself,  and  I  want  to 
know.     She  can  tell  me." 

"  Father  telled  ye  already,"  said  the  eldest  girl. 

"  I  can  tell  better  from  what  she  says,"  said  Mrs.  Underbill, 
turning  her  face  towards  her  visiter.  "  What  does  she  say  ?  Be 
you  uncommon  fair  and  handsome?— or  not  more  than  the 
common  ?  " 

The  red  deepened  on  Elizabeth's  cheek  and  brow,  but  she 
answered,  not  without  some  hesitation, 

"  I  believe — more  than  the  common." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC.  4:81 

A  little  glimpse  of  a  smile  stole  over  the  old  woman's  face. 

"  Handsome,  and  rich.  Well — Be  you  happy  too,  young 
lady,  above  the  common  ?  " 

"  I  have  learned,  ma'am,  that  that  depends  upon  right-doing ; 
— so  I  am  not  always  happy." 

"  Have  you  learned  that  lesson  ?  "  said  the  old  woman.  "  It's 
a  good  one.     Let  me  see  your  hand  ?  " 

Elizabeth  drew  near  and  gave  it. 

"  It's  a  pretty  hand," — said  the  old  woman.  "  It's  soft — it 
hain't  done  much  work.  It  feels  rich  and  handsome.  Don't  you 
give  it  to  no  one  who  will  help  you  to  forget  that  the  blessing  of 
God  is  better  than  silver  and  gold." 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  not." 

"  Be  you  a  servant  of  the  Lord,  young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  hope  I  am,  Mrs.  Underhill,"  Elizabeth  answered  with 
some  hesitation.     "  Not  a  good  one." 

The  old  woman  dropped  her  hand  and  fell  back  in  her  chair, 
only  saying,  for  Elizabeth  had  risen, 

"  Come  and  see  me  again — I'll  be  pleased  to  see  ye." 

"  If  I  do ! — "  thought  Elizabeth  as  she  ran  down  to  her 
boat.  The  free  air  seemed  doubly  free.  But  then  came  the 
instant  thought, — "  Winthrop  Landholm  would  not  have  said 
that.     How  far  I  am — how  far  ! — from  where  he  stands  !  " — 

She  walked  slowly  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Mr.  Underhill,"  she  said  as  she  prepared  to  spring  into  the 
boat  which  he  held  for  her, — "  I  have  forgotten,  while  I  was  at 
the  house,  what  I  partly  came  for  to-night.  We  are  out  of  pro- 
visions— have  you  any  eggs,  or  anything  of  any  kind,  to  spare  ?  " 

"Eggs?" — said  Mr.  Underhill,  holding  the  boat, — "what 
else  would  you  like  along  of  eggs  ?  " 

"  Almost  anything,  that  is  not  salt  meat." 

"  Chickens  ? — we've  got  some  o'  them." 

"  Very  glad  of  them  indeed, — or  fresh  meat." 

"  Ha'n't  got  any  of  that  just  to-day,"  said  the  old  farmer 
shaking  his  head.  "  I'll  see.  The  boat  won't  stir — tide's  makin' 
yet.     You'll  have  a  pull  home,  I  expect." 

He  went  back  to  the  house,  and  Elizabeth  stood  waiting, 
alone  with  her  boat. 

There  was  refreshment  and  strength  to  be  had  from  nature's 
pure  and  calm  face  ;  so  very  pure  and  calm  the  mountains  looked 
down  upon  her  and  the  river  smiled  up.  The  opposite  hill-tops 
shone  in  the  warm  clear  light  of  the  October  setting  sun,  the 
more  warm  and  bright  for  the  occasional  red  and  yellow  leaves 

21 


482  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

that  chequered  their  green,  and  many  tawny  and  half  turned  trees 
that  mellowed  the  whole  mountain  side.  Such  clear  light  as  shone 
upon  them !  such  unearthly  blue  as  rose  above  them  !  inch  a  soft 
and  fair  water  face  that  gave  back  the  blue  !  What  could  eyes 
do  but  look ;  what  could  the  mind  do  but  wonder,  and  be  thank- 
ful ;  and  wonder  again,  at  the  beauty,  and  grow  bright  in  the 
sunlight,  and  grow  pure  in  that  shadowless  atmosphere.  The 
sharp  cedar  tops  on  Shahweetah  were  so  many  illuminated  points, 
and  further  down  the  river  the  sunlight  caught  just  the  deep 
bend  of  the  water  in  the  bay ;  the  rest  was  under  shadow  of  the 
western  hills.  All  was  under  a  still  and  hush, — nothing  sound- 
ed or  moved  but  here  and  there  a  cricket;  the  tide  was  near 
flood  and  crept  up  noiselessly;  the  wind  blew  somewhere  else, 
but  not  in  October.  Softly  the  sun  went  down  and  the  shadows 
stole  up. 

Elizabeth  stood  with  her  hands  pressed  upon  her  breast, 
drinking  in  all  the  sights  and  sounds,  and  many  of  their  soft 
whisperings  that  only  the  spirit  catches ;  when  her  ear  was  caught 
by  very  dissimilar  and  discordant  notes  behind  her, — the  scream- 
ing of  discomposed  chickens  and  the  grating  of  Mr.  Underbill's 
boots  on  the  gravel. 

"  Here's  chickens  for  ye,"  said  the  farmer,  who  held  the  legs 
of  two  pair  in  his  single  hand,  the  heads  of  the  same  depending 
and  screaming  in  company, — "  and  here's  three  dozen  of  fresh 
eggs — if  you  want  more  you  can  send  for  'em.  Will  you  take 
these  along  in  the  Merry-go-round  ?  " 

"  If  you  please — there  is  no  other  way,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  Wait — let  me  get  in  first,  Mr.  Underhill — Are  they  tied  so 
they  can't  get  loose  ?  " 

"  La !  yes,"  said  the  old  man  putting  them  into  the  bow  of 
the  boat, — "  they  can't  do  nothin' !  I'll  engage  they  won't  hurt 
ye.  Do  you  good,  if  you  eat  'em  right.  Good  bye  ! — it's  pretty 
nigh  slack  water,  I  guess—you'll  go  home  easy.  Come  again! — 
and  you  shall  have  some  more  fowls  to  take  home  with  ye  !  " — 

Elizabeth  bowed  her  acknowledgments,  and  pulled  away  to- 
wards home,  over  the  bright  water,  wondering  again  very  much 
at  herself  and  her  chickens.  The  dark  barrier  of  the  western 
hills  rose  up  now  before  her,  darkening  and  growing  more  dis- 
tant— as  she  went  all  the  way  over  the  river  home.  Elizabeth 
admired  them  and  admired  at  herself  by  turns. 

Near  the  landing,  however,  the  boat  paused  again,  and  one 
oar  splashed  discontentedly  in  the  water  and  then  lay  still,  while 
the  face  of  its  owner  betrayed  a  struggle  of  some  sort  going  on. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  483 

The  displeased  brow,  and  the  firm-set  lips,  said  respectively,  '  I 
would  not,'  and  '  I  must ;  '  and  it  was  five  minutes  good  before 
the  brow  cleared  up  and  the  lips  unbent  to  their  usual  full  free 
outline ;  and  the  oars  were  in  play  once  more,  and  the  Merry-go- 
round  brought  in  and  made  fast. 

"  Well,  Miss  'Lizabeth  !  "  said  Clam  who  met  her  at  the  door, 
— "  where  have  you  been !  Here's  Mis'  Haye  been  cryin'  and 
the  tea-kettle  singing  an  hour  and  a  half,  if  it  isn't  two  hours." 

"  Has  Anderese  come  home  ?  " 

11  Yes,  and  supper's  ready,  and  'taint  bad,  for  Mis'  Landholm 
learned  me  how  to  do  fresh  mutton  and  cream  ;  and  it's  all  ready. 
You  look  as  if  you  wanted  it,  Miss  'Lizabeth.     My  ! " 

"  There  are  some  eggs  and  chickens  down  in  the  boat,  Clam  " 

"  In  what  boat,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  In  mine — down  at  the  rocks." 

"  Who  fetched  'em  ?  " 

"  I  did,  from  Mr.  Underbill's.  You  may  bring  them  up  to 
the  house." 

Leaving  her  handmaid  in  an  excess  of  astonishment  unusual 
with  her,  Elizabeth  walked  into  her  guest's  room,  where  the  table 
was  laid.  Rose  sat  yet  by  the  window,  her  head  in  her  handker- 
chief on  the  window-sill.     Elizabeth  went  up  to  her. 

«  Rose—" 

"  What  ?  " — said  Rose  without  moving. 

"  Rose — look  up  at  me " 

The  pretty  face  was  lifted  at  her  bidding,  but  it  was  sullen, 
and  the  response  was  a  sullen  "  Well " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  spoke  to  you  so — I  was  very  wrong.  I 
am  very  sorry.     Forgive  me  and  forget  it — will  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  very  unkind !  " — said  Rose,  her  head  going  down 
again  in  fresh  tears. 

"  It  was  very  unkind  and  unhandsome.  What  can  I  say 
more,  but  that  I  am  sorry  ?    Won't  you  forget  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Rose  wiping  her  eyes, — "  I  don't  want 
to  remember  it  if  you  want  to  forget  it.  I  dare  say  I  was 
foolish " 

"  Then  come  to  supper,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  Here's  the  tea— 
I'm  very  hungry." 


CHAPTEK    XLII. 

And  Phant'sie,  I  tell  you,  has  dreams  that  have  wings, 
And  dreams  that  have  honey,  and  dreams  that  have  stings, 
Dreams  of  the  maker,  and  dreams  of  the  teller, 
Dreams  of  the  kitchen,  and  dreams  of  the  cellar. 

Ben  Joasox. 

A  few  days  more  passed ;  days  of  sameness  in  the  house , 
while  Autumn's  beautiful  work  was  going  on  without,  and  the 
woods  were  changing  from  day  to  day  with  added  glories.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  sun  had  broken  one  or  two  of  his  beams  across 
the  hills,  and  left  fragments  of  coloured  splendour  all  over.  The 
elm  trees  reared  heads  of  straw-colour  among  their  forest  brethren; 
the  maples  shewed  yellow  and  red  and  flame-colour ;  the  birches 
were  In  bright  orange.  Sad  purple  ashes  stood  the  moderators 
of  the  Assembly;  and  hickories  of  gold  made  sunny  slopes  down 
the  mountain  sides.  All  softened  together  in  the  distance  to  a 
mellow,  ruddy,  glowing  hue  over  the  whole  wood  country. 

The  two  cousins  sat  by  the  two  windows  watching  the  fading 
light,  in  what  used  once  to  be  the  '  keeping-room' — Mrs.  Haye's 
now.  Elizabeth  had  been  long  looking  out  of  the  window,  with 
a  fixed,  thoughtful,  sorrowful,  gaze.  Rose's  look  was  never  fixed 
long  upon  anything  and  never  betrayed  her  thoughts  to  be  so. 
It  wavered  now  uneasily  between  her  cousin  and  the  broad  and 
bright  hills  and  river — which  probably  Mrs.  Haye  did  not  see. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  here,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  How  is  that  old  woman  ?  " 

u  I  don't  know.  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  difference  from 
one  day  to  another." 

«  What  ails  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  it  is  as  the  doctor  says, — that 
there  is  a  general  breaking  up  of  nature." 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMTJC.  485 

"  Is  slie  going  to  live  long  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     He  said  probably  not." 

"  Well,  who's  going  to  take  care  of  her  1 " 

"  She  is  taken  care  of.  There  is  a  woman  here  from  Moun- 
tain Spring,  to  do  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  Why  must  we  stay  here,  Lizzie  ? — it's  so  dismal." 

"  We  mustn't— I  must." 

a  Why  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather — and  I  think  it  is  right." 

"  To  take  care  of  that  old  woman  ?  " 

«  No — I  can't  do  much  for  her — but  I  can  gee  that  she  is 
taken  care  of." 

"  But  how  would  she  have  dene  if  you  had  never  come  here?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  that  has  to  do  with  it, 
seeing  that  I  am  here." 

"  You  wouldn't  stay  for  her  now,  if  she  wasn't  somebody's 
old  nurse." 

Elizabeth  did  not  answer. 

"  But  how  long  do  you  mean  to  stay  here,  Lizzie  ? — anyhow  ?  " 

"  Till  I  must  go — till  it  is  less  pleasant  here  than  some- 
where else." 

"  And  when  will  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  good  while." 

"  But  when,  Lizzie  ?  " 

11 1  don't  know.  I  suppose  when  the  cold  weather  comes 
in  earnest." 

"  I'm  sure  it  has  come  now !  "  said  Rose  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  "  I'm  shivering  every  morning  after  the  fire  goes  out. 
What  sort  of  cold  weather  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  snow  and  ice." 

"  Snow  and  ico  ! — And  then  you  will  go — where  will  you  go?" 
said  Hose  discontentedly. 

"  I  suppose,  to  Mannahatta." 

"  Will  you  go  the  first  snow  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  yet,  Hose." 

There  was  a  pause.  Elizabeth  had  not  stirred  from  her 
position.  Her  head  rested  yet  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  looked 
steadily  out  of  the  window. 

"  It  will  seem  so  lonely  there  !  "  said  Rose  whimpering. 

"  Yes  ! —  more  lonely  than  here." 

"  I  meant  in  the  house.  But  there  one  can  get  out  and  see 
come  one." 

"  There  isn't  a  soul  in  Mannahatta  I  care  to  see." 


486  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUO. 

"  Lizzie !— " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Lizzie  ! — Mr.  Landholm  ?  w 

"  I  mean,  not  one  that  I  am  like  to  see." 

"  What  do  you  go  to  Mannahatta  for,  then  ?  "  said  Rose  un- 
believingly. 

"  One  must  be  somewhere,  to  do  something  in  the  world." 

"  To  do  what  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  suppose  I  shall  find  my  work." 

"  "Work  ? — what  work  ?  " — said  Rose  woLderingly. 

"  I  don't  know  yet,  Rose.  But  everybody  has  something  to 
do  in  the  world — so  I  have, — and  you  have." 

"  I  haven't  anything.  What  have  we  to  do,  except  what  we 
like  to  do  ?  " 

"I  hope  I  shall  like  my  work,"  said  Elizabeth.  "I  must 
like  it,  if  I  am  to  do  it  well." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? — what  are  you  talking  of,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  Rose.  Do  you  think  that  you  and  I  have 
been  put  in  this  world  with  so  many  means  of  usefulness,  of  one 
sort  and  another,  and  that  it  was  never  meant  we  should  do  any- 
thing but  trifle  away  them  and  life  till  the  end  of  it  came  ?  Do 
you  think  God  has  given  us  nothing  to  do  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  much  means  of  doing  anything,"  said  Rose,  half 
pouting,  half  sobbing.  "  Have  you  taken  up  your  friend  Win* 
throp   Landholm's  notions  ?  " 

There  was  a  rush  to  Elizabeth's  heart,  that  his  name  and  hers, 
in  such  a  connection,  should  be  named  in  the  same  day ;  but  the 
colour  started  and  the  eyes  flushed  with  tears,  and  she  said 
nothing. 

"  What  sort  of  c  work '  do  you  suppose  you  are  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  shall  find  out,  Rose,  I  hope,  in  time." 

"  I  guess  he  can  tell  you, — if  you  were  to  ask  him,"  said  Rose 
meaningly. 

Elizabeth  sat  a  minute  silent,  with  quickened  breath. 

"  Rose,"  she  said,  leaning  back  into  the  room  that  she  might 
see  and  be  seen, — "  look  at  me  and  listen  to  me." 

Rose  obeyed. 

"  Don't  say  that  kind  of  thing  to  me  again." 

"  One  may  say  what  one  has  a  mind  to,  in  a  free  land,"  said 
Rose  pouting, — "  and  one  needn't  be  commanded  like  a  child  or  a 
servant.  Don't  I  know  you  would  never  plague  yourself  with  that 
old  woman  if  she  wasn't  Winthrop's  old  nurse  ?  "  • 

Elizabeth  rose  and  came  near  to  her. 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  487 

"  I  will  not  have  this  thing  said  to  me ! "  she  repeated. 
"  My  motives,  in  any  deed  of  charity,  are  no  man's  or  woman's  to 
meddle  with.  Mr.  Landholm  is  most  absolutely  nothing  to  me, 
nor  I  to  him  ;  except  in  the  respect  and  regard  he  has  from  me, 
which  he  has  more  or  less,  I  presume,  from  everybody  that  has 
the  happiness  of  knowing  him.  Do  you  understand  me,  Rose  ? 
clearly  ?  " 

Another  answer  was  upon  Rose's  tongue,  but  she  was  cowed, 
and  only  responded  a  meek  '  yes.'  Elizabeth  turned  and  walked 
off  in  stately  fashion  to  the  door  of  the  kitchen.  The  latch  was 
raised,  and  then  she  let  it  fall  again,  came  back,  and  stood  again 
with  a  very  different  face  and  voice  before  her  guest. 

"  Rose,"  she  said  gravely,  "  I  didn't  speak  just  in  the  best 
way  to  you ;  but  I  do  not  always  recollect  myself  quickly  enough. 
You  mustn't  say  that  sort  of  thing  to  me — I  can't  bear  it.  I  am 
sorry  for  anything  in  my  manner  that  was  disagreeable  to  you 
just  now." 

And  before  Rose  had  in  the  least  made  up  her  mind  how  to 
answer  her,  Elizabeth  had  quitted  the  room. 

"  She  ain't  goin'  never  !  "  said  Clam,  meeting  and  passing  her 
mistress  as  she  entered  the  kitchen.  "  i"  don't  believe !  She's 
a  goin'  to  stay." 

Karen  sat  in  her  wonted  rocking-chair  before  the  fire,  rock- 
ing a  very  little  jog  on  her  rockers.  Elizabeth  came  up  to  the 
side  of  the  fireplace  and  stood  there,  silent  and  probably  medita- 
tive. She  had  at  any  rate  forgotten  Karen,  when  the  old  woman 
spoke,  in  a  feebler  voice  than  usual. 

"  Is  the  Governor  comin'  ?  " 

"  "What,  Karen  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  knowing  very  well  what 
she  had  asked,  but  not  knowing  so  well  the  drift  and  intent  of  it. 

"  Is  the  Governor  comin'  ?  will  he  be  along  directly  ?  " 

"  No — I  suppose  not.     Do  you  want  to  see  him,  Karen  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him,"  said  the  old  woman  covering  her  eyes 
with  her  withered  hand.     "  I  thought  he  was  comin7." 

"  Perhaps  something  may  bring  him,  some  day.  I  dare  say 
you  will  see  him  by  and  by —  I  don't  know  how  soon." 

"  I'll  see  him  there,11  said  the  old  woman.  "  I  can't  stay  here 
long." 

"  Why  you  don't  seem  any  worse,  Karen,  do  you  ?  Aren't 
you  going  to  be  well  again  ?  " 

"  Not  here,"  said  the  old  woman.  ,  "  I'm  all  goin'  to  pieces. 
1 11  go  to  bed  to-night,  and  I  won't  get  up  again." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Karen ;  because  I  think  you  will." 


4:88  THE    HILLS    OF    THE     SHATEMUC. 

"  I'll  go  to  bed,"  she  repeated  in  a  rather  plaintive  manner 
"  I  thought  he'd  be  here." 

It  touched  Elizabeth  acutely ;  perhaps  because  she  had  so  neai 
a  fellow  feeling  that  answered  Karen's,  and  allowed  her  to  com- 
prehend how  exceedingly  the  desire  for  his  presence  might  grow 
strong  in  one  who  had  a  right  to  wish  for  it.  And  she  knew  that 
he  would  reckon  old  Karen  his  friend,  whatever  other  people 
would  do. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Karen  ?  "  she  said  gently.  "  Let 
me  be  the  best  substitute  I  can.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  that  he 
could  do  better  ?  " 

"  There  can't  nobody  do  just  the  Governor's  work,"  said  his 
old  nurse.  "  I  thought  he'd  ha'  been  here.  This  '11  be  my  last 
night,  and  I'd  like  to  spend  it  hearin'  good  things." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  send  for  anybody,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Could  ye  send  for  him  ?  "  said  Karen  earnestly. 

"  Not  in  time.  No,  Karen, — there'd  be  no  time  to  send 
a  message  from  here  to  Mannahatta  and  get  him  here  to-night." 

Shf  jogged  herself  back  and  forward  a  little  while  on  her 
rocking-chair ;  and  then  said  she  would  go  to  bed.  Elizabeth 
helped  her  into  the  little  room,  formerly  Asahel's,  opening  out  of 
the  kitchen,  which  she  had  insisted  Karen  should  take  during  her 
illness ;  and  after  she  was  put  to  bed,  came  again  and  asked  her  what 
she  should  do  for  her.     Karen  requested  to  have  the  Bible  read. 

Elizabeth  set  open  the  kitchen  door,  took  a  low  seat  by 
Karen's  bedside,  and  established  herself  with  her  book.  It  was 
strange  work  to  her,  to  read  the  Bible  to  a  person  who  thought 
herself  dying.  She,  who  so  lately  had  to  do  with  everything  else 
but  the  Bible,  now  seated  by  the  bedside  of  an  old  black  woman, 
and  the  Bible  the  only  matter  in  hand  between  the  two.  Karen's 
manner  made  it  more  strange.  She  was  every  now  and  then 
breaking  in  upon  the  reading,  or  accompanying  it,  with  remarks 
and  interjections.  Sometimes  it  was  "  Hallelujah  ! " — some- 
times, "  That's  true,  that's  true  !  " — sometimes,  and  very  often, 
"Praise  the  Lord !  "  Not  loud,  nor  boisterous;  they  were  most 
of  the  time  little  underbreath  words  said  to  herself,  words  seem- 
ingly that  she  could  not  help,  the  good  of  which  she  took  and 
meant  for  nobody  else's  edification.  They  were  however  very 
disagreeable  and  troublesome  to  Elizabeth's  ears  and  thoughts 
she  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  Karen  to  stop  them ;  but  the  next 
sighing  "  That's  true  !  " — checked  her ;  if  it  was  such  a  com- 
fort to  the  old  woman  to  hold  counsel  with  herself,  and  Elizabeth 
could  offer  nothing  better,  the  least  she  could  do  was  to  let  her 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  489 

alone.  And  then  Elizabeth  grew  accustomed  to  it ;  and  at  last 
thoughts  wandered  a  little  by  turns  to  take  up  their  new  trade 
of  wondering  at  herself  and  at  the  new,  unwonted  life  she  seemed 
beginning  to  lead.  There  was  a  singular  pleasantness  in  what 
she  was  doing ;  she  found  a  grave  sweet  consciousness  of  being 
about  the  right  work;  but  presently  to  her  roving  spirit  the 
question  arose  whether,  this, — this  new  and  certainly  very  sub- 
stantial pleasure, — were  perhaps  the  chief  kind  she  was  hereafter 
to  look  forward  to,  or  find  in  this  life ; — and  Elizabeth's  heart 
confessed  to  a  longing  desire  for  something  else.  And  then  her 
attention  suddenly  came  back  to  poor  Karen  at  her  side  saying, 
softly,  "  Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul !  " — Elizabeth  stopped  short ; 
she  was  choked. 

At  this  juncture  Clam  noiselessly  presented  herself 

"  He's  come,  Miss  'Lizabeth." 

The  start  that  Miss  Haye's  inward  spirits  gave  at  this,  was 
not  to  be  seen  at  all  on  the  outside.  She  looked  at  Clam,  but 
she  gave  no  sign  that  her  words  had  been  understood.  Yet 
Elizabeth  had  understood  them  so  well,  that  she  did  not  even 
think  at  first  to  ask  the  question,  and  when  she  did,  it  was  for 
form's  sake,  who  had  come  ?  Probably  Clam  knew  as  much,  for 
she  only  repeated  her  words. 

"  He's  come.     What  '11 1  do  with  him,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

a  He  ain't  come  yet — he's  comin'." 

"  Coming  when  ?  And  what  do  you  mean  by  saying  he 
is  come  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  nothin'  bad,"  said  Clam.  "  He's  just  a 
comin'  up  the  walk  from  the  boat— I  see  him  by  the  moon." 

"  See  who  it  is,  first,  before  you  do  anything  with  him ;  and 
then  jyat  can  bring  me  word." 

Elizabeth  closed  her  book  however,  in  some  little  doubt  what 
she  should  do  with  herself.  She  knew, — it  darted  into  her  mind, 
— that  it  would  please  Winthrop  to  find  her  there ;  that  it  would 
meet  his  approbation ;  and  then  with  the  stern  determination 
that  motives  of  self-praise,  if  they  came  into  her  head  should  not 
come  into  her  life,  she  hurried  out  and  across  the  kitchen  and  hid 
her  book  in  her  own  room.  Then  came  out  into  the  kitchen  and 
stood  waiting  for  the  steps  outside  and  for  the  opening  of  the 
door. 

"  You  are  come  in  good  time,"  she  said,  as  she  met  and 
answered  Winthrop's  offered  hand. 

"lam  glad  I  am  in  time,"  he  said. 

21* 


490  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   BHATEMUC. 

"  Karen  has  been  wishing  for  you  particularly  to-night — but 
I  don't  know  that  that  is  any  sign,  except  to  the  superstitious, 
that  she  is  in  particular  danger." 

"  I  shall  be  all  the  more  welcome,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  that  is  possible,  in  Karen's  case. 
But  did  you  know  she  wanted  you  ? — did  you  know  she  was  ill  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  nothing  but  an  errand  of  mercy  could  bring 
me  ?  "  he  answered  slightly,  though  with  a  little  opening  of  the 
eyes  which  Elizabeth  afterwards  remembered  and  speculated 
upon.  But  for  the  present  she  was  content  with  the  pleasant 
implication  of  his  words.  Clam  was  ordered  to  bring  refresh- 
ments. These  Winthrop  declined ;  he  had  had  all  he  wanted. 
Then  Elizabeth  asked  if  he  would  like  to  see  Karen. 

She  opened  the  door,  which  she  had  taken  care  to  shut,  and 
went  in  with  him. 

"  Karen — here  is  the  Governor,  that  you  were  wishing  for." 

The  old  woman  turned  her  face  towards  them ;  then  stretched 
out  her  hand,  and  spoke  with  an  accent  of  satisfied  longing  that 
went  at  least  to  one  heart. 

"  I  thought  he'd  come,"  she  said.     "  Governor  ! — " 

Winthrop  leaned  over  to  speak  to  her  and  take  her  hand. 
Elizabeth  longed  to  hear  what  he  would  say,  but  she  had  no 
business  there ;  she  went  out,  softly  closing  the  door. 

She  was  alone  then ;  and  she  stood  on  the  hearth  before  the 
fire  in  a  little  tumult  of  pleasure,  thinking  how  she  should  dispose 
of  her  guest  and  what  she  might  do  for  him. 

"  Once  more  I  have  a  chance,"  she  thought;  "and  I  may 
never  in  the  world  have  another — He  will  not  come  here  again 
before  I  go  back  to  Mannahatta,  he  cannot  stay  in  my  house  there, 
— and  another  summer  is  very  far  off,  and  very  uncertain.  He'll 
not  be  very  likely  to  come  here — he  may  be  married — and  I  am 
very  sure  I  shall  not  want  to  see  his  wife  here — I  shall  not  do 
it. — Though  I  might  ask  her  for  his  sake — No !  I  should  better 
break  with  him  at  once  and  have  no  more  to  do  with  him;  it 
would  be  only  misery."  "  And  what  is  it  now  ?  "  said  something 
else.     And  "  Not  misery  " — was  the  answer. 

"  Where  will  I  put  him,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  "  said  the  voice  of 
Clam  softly  at  her  elbow.     Elizabeth  started. 

"  You  must  take  my  room.  I  will  sleep  with  Mrs.  Haye. 
Clam — what  have  we  got  in  the  house  ?  and  what  can  you  do  in 
the  way  of  cooking  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  some  things — for  some  folks,"  said  Clam.  "  Wa'n't 
tny  cream  gravy  good  the  other  day  ?  " 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  491 

"  Cream  gravy  ! — with  what  ?  " 

"  Fresh  lamb, — mutton,  I  would  say." 

"  But  you  have  got  no  fresh  mutton  now,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Maybe  Mr.  Underhill  has,"  said  Clam  with  a  twinkle  of  her 
bright  eye. 

"  Mr.  Underbill's  fresh  mutton  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.     What  have  we  got  on  this  side  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much  of  nothing,"  said  Clam,  '*  this  side  o'  Mountain 
Spring.  Anderese  ain't  no  good  but  to  make  the  fire — it  takes 
mor'n  him  to  find  somethin'  to  put  over  it." 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  go  to  Mountain  Spring  before  break- 
fast, Clam." 

"  Well,  m'm.  Who'll  take  care  of  the  fcouse  wliile  I'm  gone, 
Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Cives— can't  she  ?  " 

"  Mis'  Cives  is  gone  off  home." 

"  G-one  home  ! — what,  to  Mountain  Spring  ?  " 

"  That's  where  her  home  is,  she  says." 

"  What  for  ?  and  without  asking  ?  " 

"  She  wanted  to  spend  to-night  at  home,  she  said ;  and  she 
asked  no  questions  and  went." 

11  To  night  of  all  nights !  when  Karen  seems  so  much 
worse ! " 

"  It's  good  we've  got  the  Governor,"  said  Clam. 

"  But  he  can't  sit  up  all  night  with  her." 

"  Guess  he  will,"  said  Clam.  "  Pretty  much  like  him.  You 
can  sleep  in  your  bed,  Miss  'Lizabeth." 

"  You  go  and  get  the  room  ready— he  must  not  sit  up  all 
night — and  we'll  sefl  in  the  morning  about  Mountain  Spring. 
Somebody  must  go."    ,  • . 

"  He'll  go  if  you  ask  him,"  said  Clam.  "  He'd  do  the  mar- 
keting best,  now,  of  all  of  us.  He  knows  just  where  everything 
is.  'Fact  is,  we  want  him  in  the  family  pretty  much  all  the 
time." 

"Let  him  know  when  his  room  is  ready,  and  offer  him  re- 
freshments,— and  call  me  if  I  am  wanted." 

Clam  departed ;  but  Elizabeth,  instead  of  doing  the  same, 
took  a  chair  on  the  kitchen  hearth  and  sat  down  to  await  any  pos- 
sible demands  upon  her.  She  could  hear  a  quiet  sound  of  talking 
in  Karen's  room ;  now  and  then  the  old  woman's  less  regulated 
voice,  more  low  or  more  shrill,  broke  in  upon  the  subdued  tones 
of  the  other.  Elizabeth  thought  she  would  have  given  anything 
to  be  a  hearer  of  what  was  said  and  listened  to  there :  but  the 


4:92  THE    HILLS    OF     THE    SHATEMIJO. 

door  was  shut ;  it  was  all  for  Karen  and  not  for  her ;  and  she 
gave  up  at  last  in  despair  and  retreated  to  her  cousin's  room. 

"  So  he's  come  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  Yes ! — he's  come,     Did  jou  know  he  was  coming  ?  " 

"  I ! — No, — I  didn't  know  he  was  coming.     How  should  I  ?  " 

"  Did  you  think  he  was  coming,  Rose  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  but  he'd  come,"  3aid  Rose  a  little  awkwardly, 
"  I  didn't  know  anything  about  it." 

Elizabeth  chose  to  ask  no  further  question.  Somewhat  mor- 
tified already,  she  would  not  give  herself  any  more  certain  ground 
of  mortification,  not  at  that  time.  She  would  talk  no  more  with 
Rose.  She  went  to  bed;  and  long  after  her  companion  was 
asleep,  she  listened  for  Winthrop's  coming  out  or  Clam's  colloquy 
with  him,  and  for  any  possible  enquiry  after  herself.  She  heard 
Clam  tap  at  the  door — she  heard  the  undistinguished  sound  of 
words,  and  only  gathered  that  Winthrop  probably  tfas  declining 
all  proffered  comforts  and  luxuries  and  choosing  to  spend  the 
night  by  Karen's  pillow.  And  weary  and  sorry  and  sick  of  every- 
thing in  the  world,  Elizabeth  went  to  sleep. 

She  waked  up  in  the  morning  to  hear  the  twittering  of  the 
birds  around  the  house.  They  were  singing  busily  of  the  coming 
day,  but  the  day  had  not  come  yet ;  at  least  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore sunrise.  Elizabeth  softly  got  up,  softly  dressed  herself,  and 
went  out  into  the  kitchen.  That  messenger  must  be  despatched 
for  something  for  breakfast. 

She  was  met  by  Clam  coming  in  from  another  door. 

"  Well,  Clam,"  said  her  mistress,  "  where  is  everybody  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  am  yet,"  said  Clam.  "  Everybody's 
abed  and  asleep,  I  'spose.     Where  be  you,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Did  Mr.  Landholm  sit  up  all  night  ?  " 

"  'Most.     He  said  'twas  near  upon  two  o'clock." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  When  he  had  done  sittin'  up,  and  went  to  bed." 

"  How  was  Karen  ?  " 

"  I  'spose  she  was  goin\  but  she  ain't  in  no  hurry — she  ain't 
gone  yet." 

"  Then  she  was  no  worse  ?  " 

"  She  was  better.  She  was  slicked  up  wonderful  after  seem' 
the  Governor,  she  telled  me.     I  wonder  who  ain't." 

u  He  has  not  come  out  of  his  room  yet,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  haint,"  said  Clam,  "  or  I  don'  know  when  we'JJ 
get  breakfast — 'less  he  turns  to  and  helps  us." 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  493 

"  He  will  want  a  good  one,  after  last  night,  and  yesterday's 
journey.     Where's  Anderese  ?  " 

"  He  took  some  bread  and  milk,"  said  Clam. 

"  Well — where's  Anderese  ?  we  must  send  him  to  Mountain 
Spring." 

"  He's  got  to  go  after  wood,  Miss  'Lizabeth — there  ain't  three 
sticks  more  'n  '11  set  the  fire  agoing." 

1  Must  he  !     Then  you  must  go,  Clam." 

"  Very  good.     Who'll  set  the  table,  Miss  'Lizabeth  ?  " 

"  Emma  can.     Or  you  can,  after  you  get  back." 

"  And  there's  the  fire  to  make,  and  the  floor  to  sweep,  and 
the  knives  to  clean,  and  the  bread  to  make — " 

"  Bread  ! — "  said  Miss  Haye. 

"  Or  cakes,"  said  Clam.  "  One  or  t'other  '11  be  wanted.  I 
don't  care  which." 

"  Don't  Emma  know  how  ?  " 

"  She  don't  know  a  thing,  but  how  to  put  Mrs.  Haye's  curls 
over  a  stick — when  she  ain't  doin'  her  own." 

"  Then  give  me  a  basket — I'll  go  to  Mountain  Spring  my- 
self." 

"  Who'll  bring  the  meat  and  things  home  ?  " 

"  I  will; — or  fish,  or  eggs, — something,  whatever  I  can  get." 

"  It  '11  tire  you,  Miss  'Lizabeth — I  guess,  before  you  get 
back." 

"  You  find  me  a  basket — while  I  put  on  my  bonnet,"  said 
Clam's  mistress.  And  the  one  thing  was  done  as  soon  as  the 
other. 

"  I  'spect  I'll  wake  up  some  morning  and  find  myself  playing 
on  the  pianuy-forty,"  said  Clam,  as  she  watched  her  young  mis- 
tress walking  off  witi  the  basket. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


When  was  old  Sherwood's  head  more  quaintly  curled  f 
Or  looked  the  earth  more  green  upon  the  world  ? 
Or  nature's  cradle  more  enchased  and  purled  ? 
"When  did  the  air  so  smile,  the  wind  so  chime, 
As  quiristers  of  season,  and  the  prime  ? 

Ben  Jonsc* 

Miss  Haye,  however,  had  never  sent  her  fingers  over  the  keys 
with  more  energy,  than  now  her  feet  tripped  over  the  dry  leaves 
and  stones  in  the  path  to  Mountain  Spring.  She  took  a  very 
rough  way,  through  the  woods.  There  was  another,  much  plainer, 
round  by  the  wagon  road ;  but  Elizabeth  chose  the  more  solitary 
and  prettier  way,  roundabout  and  hard  to  the  foot  though  it  was. 

For  some  little  distance  there  was  a  rude  wagon-track,  very 
rough,  probably  made  for  the  convenience  of  getting  wood.  It 
stood  thick  with  pretty  large  stones  or  heads  of  rock ;  but  it  was 
softly  grass-grown  between  the  stones  and  gave  at  least  a  clear 
way  through  the  woods,  upon  which  the  morning  light  if  not  the 
morning  sun  beamed  fairly.  A  light  touch  of  white  frost  lay 
upon  the  grass  and  covered  the  rocks  with  bloom,  the  promise  of 
a  mild  day.  After  a  little,  the  roadway  descended  into  a  bit  of 
smooth  meadow,  weJ.  walled  in  with  trees,  and  lost  itself  there. 
In  the  tree-tops  the  morning  sun  was  glittering ;  it  could  not  get 
to  the  bottom  yet;  but  up  there  among  the  leaves  it  gave  a 
bright  shimmering  prophecy  of  what  it  would  do ;  it  was  a  sparkle 
of  heavenly  light  touching  the  earth.  Elizabeth  had  never  seen 
it  before ;  she  had  never  in  her  life  been  in  the  woods  at  so  early 
an  hour.  She  stood  still  to  look.  It  was  impossible  to  help  feel- 
ing the  light  of  that  glittering  promise ;  its  play  upon  the  leaves 
was  too  joyous,  too  pure,  too  fresh.  She  felt  her  heart  grow 
stronger  and  her  breath  come  freer.  What  was  the  speech  of 
those  light-touched  leaves,  she  might  not  have  told ;  something 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMHC  495 

her  spirit  took  knowledge  of  while  her  reason  did  not.  Or  had 
not  leisure  to  do ;  for  if  she  did  not  get  to  Mountain  Spring  in 
good  season  she  would  not  be  home  for  breakfast.  Yet  she  had 
plenty  of  time,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  run  short.  So  she  went 
on  her  way. 

From  the  valley  meadow  for  half  a  mile,  it  was  not  much 
more  or  much  better  than  a  cow- path,  beaten  a  little  by  the  feet 
of  the  herdsman  seeking  his  cattle  or  of  an  occasional  foot-travel- 
ler to  Mountain  Spring.  It  was  very  rough  indeed.  Often 
Elizabeth  must  make  quite  a  circuit  among  cat-briars  and  huckle- 
berry bushes  and  young  underwood,  or  keep  the  path  at  the  ex- 
pense of  stepping  up  and  stepping  down  again  over  a  great  stone 
or  rock  blocking  up  the  whole  way.  Sometimes  the  track  was 
only  marked  over  the  grey  lichens  of  an  immense  head  of  granite 
that  refused  moss  and  vegetation  of  every  other  kind ;  sometimes 
it  wound  among  thick  alder  bushes  by  the  edge  of  wet  ground ; 
and  at  all  times  its  course  was  among  a  wilderness  of  uncared-for 
woodland,  overgrown  with  creepers  and  vines  tangled  with  under- 
brush, and  thickly  strewn  with  larger  and  smaller  fragments  and 
boulders  of  granite  rock.  But  how  beautiful  it  was !  The  alders, 
reddish  and  soft-tinted,  looked  when  the  sun  struck  through  them 
as  if  they  were  exotics  out  of  witch-land ;  the  Cornus  family,  from 
beautiful  dogwood  a  dozen  feet  high  stretching  over  Elizabeth's 
head,  to  little  humble  nameless  plants  at  her  feet,  had  edged  and 

f>arted  their  green  leaves  with  most  dainty  clear  hues  of  madder 
ake ;  white  birches  and  hickories  glimmered  in  the  sunlight  like 
trees  of  gold,  the  first  with  stems  of  silver ;  sear  leaves  strewed 
the  way ;  and  fresh  pines  and  hemlocks  stretched  out  their  arms 
amidst  the  changing  foliage,  with  their  evergreen  promise  and 
performancs,  The  morning  air  and  the  morning  walk  no  doubt 
had  something  to  do  with  the  effect  of  the  whole ;  but  Elizabeth 
thought,  with  all  the  beauty  her  eyes  had  ever  seen  they  had 
never  been  more  bewitched  than  they  were  that  day. 

With  such  a  mood  upon  her,  it  was  no  wonder  that  on  arriving 
at  Mountain  Spring  she  speedily  made  out  her  errand.  She  found 
whom  and  what  she  had  come  for ;  she  filled  her  basket  with  no 
loss  of  time  or .  pleasure ;  and  very  proud  of  her  success  set  out 
again  through  the  wood-path  homeward. 

Half  way  back  to  the  bit  of  tree-enclosed  meadow-ground,  the 
path  and  the  north  shore  of  Shahweetah  approached  each  other, 
where  a  little  bay  curve,  no  other  than  the  JEgean  Sea,  swept  in 
among  the  rocks.  Through  the  stems  of  the  trees  Elizabeth  could 
see  the  blue  water  with  the  brightness  of  the  hour  upon  it.     Its 


496  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

sparkle  tempted  her.  She  had  plenty  of  time,  or  she  resolved 
that  she  had,  and  she  wanted  to  look  at  the  fair  broad  view  she 
knew  the  shore  edge  would  give  her.  She  hesitated,  and  turned. 
A  few  bounding  and  plunging  steps  amid  rocks  and  huckleberry 
bushes  brought  her  where  she  wished  to  be.  She  stood  on  the 
border,  where  no  trees  came  in  the  way  of  the  northern  view. 
The  mountains  were  full  before  her,  and  the  wide  Shatemuc 
rolled  down  between  them,  ruffled  with  little  waves,  every  one 
sparkling  cool  in  the  sunlight.  Elizabeth  looked  at  the  water  a 
minute,  and  turned  to  the  west.  Wut-a-qut-o's  head  had  caught 
more  of  the  frosts  than  Shahweetah  had  felt  yet;  there  were 
broad  belts  of  buff  and  yellow  along  the  mountain,  even  changing 
into  sear  where  its  sides  felt  the  north  wind.  On  all  that  shore 
the  full  sunlight  lay.  The  opposite  hills,  on  the  east,  were  in 
dainty  sunshine  and  shadow,  every  undulation,  every  ridge  and 
hollow,  softly  marked  out.  With  what  wonderful  sharp  outlino 
the  mountain  edges  rose  against  the  bright  sky ;  how  wonderful 
soft  the  changes  of  shade  and  colour  adown  their  sloping  sides: 
what  brilliant  little  ripples  of  water  rolled  up  to  the  pebbles  at 
Elizabeth's  feet.  She  stood  and  looked  at  it  all,  at  one  thing  and 
the  other,  half  dazzled  with  the  beauty ;  until  she  recollected  her* 
self,  and  with  a  deep  sighful  expression  of  thoughts  and  wishes  un- 
known, turned  away  to  find  her  path  again. 

But  she  could  not  find  it.  Whereabouts  it  was,  she  was  sure ; 
but  the  where  was  an  unfindable  thing.  And  she  dared  not  strike 
forward  without  the  track;  she  might  get  further  and  further 
from  it,  and  never  get  home  to  breakfast  at  all! — There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  grope  about  seeking  for  indications;  and 
Miss  Haye's  eyes  were  untrained  to  wood-work.  The  woodland 
was  a  mazy  wilderness  now  indeed.  Points  of  stone,  beds  of 
moss,  cat-briar  vines  and  huckleberry  bushes,  in  every  direction ; 
and  between  which  of  them  lay  that  little  invisible  track  of  a  foot- 
path ?  The  more  she  looked  the  more  she  got  perplexed.  Sh« 
could  remember  no  waymarks.  The  way  was  all  cat-briars,  moss, 
bushes,  and  rocks ;  and  rocks,  bushes,  moss  and  cat-briars  were  in 
every  variety  all  around  her.  She  turned  her  face  towards  the 
quarter  from  which  she  had  come  and  tried  to  recognize  some  tree 
or  waymark  she  could  remember  having  passed.  One  part  of 
the  wood  looked  just  like  another ;  but  for  the  mountains  and 
the  river  she  could  not  have  told  where  lay  Mountain  Spring. 

Then  a  little  sound  of  rustling  leaves  and  crackling  twigs 
reached  her  ear  from  behind  her. 


THE    HILLS   OF    THE     SHATEMUC.  497 

"  There  is  a  cow !  "  thought  Elizabeth ; — "  now  I  can  find  the 
path  by  her.     But  then  ! — cows  don't  always — " 

Her  eye  had  been  sweeping  round  the  woody  skirts  of  her 
position,  in  search  of  her  expected  four-footed  guide,  when  her 
thoughts  were  suddenly  brought  to  a  point  by  seeing  a  two-footed 
creature  approaching,  and  one  whom  she  instantly  knew. 

"  It  is  Winthrop  Landholm ! — he  is  going  to  Mountain 
Spring  to  take  an  early  coach,  without  his  breakfast ! — Well,  you 
fool,  what  is  it  to  you  ?  "  was  the  next  thought.  "  What  does  it 
signify  whether  he  goes  sooner  or  later,  when  it  would  be  better 
for  you  not  to  see  him  at  all,  if  your  heart  is  going  to  start  in 
that  fashion  at  every  time. — " 

Meanwhile  she  was  making  her  way  as  well  as  she  could,  over 
rocks  and  briars,  towards  the  new-comer ;  and  did  not  look  up  till 
she  answered  his  greeting — 

"  Good  morning ! — " 

It  was  very  cheerfully  spoken. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Elizabeth,  entangled  in  a  cat-briar, 
from  which  with  a  desperate  effort  she  broke  free  before  any  help 
could  be  given  her. 

"  Those  are  naughty  things." 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  they  look  beautiful  now  when  they  are 
growing  tawny,  as  a  contrast  with  the  other  creepers  and  the 
deep  green  cedars.  And  they  are  a  beautiful  green  at  other 
times." 

"  Make  the  best  of  them.  What  were  you  looking  at,  a 
minute  ago  ?  " 

11  Looking  for  my  way.     I  had  lost  it." 

"  You  don't  know  it  very  well,  I  guess." 

"  Yes. — No,  not  very  well,  but  I  could  follow  it,  and  did,  till 
coming  home  I  thought  I  had  time  to  look  at  the  view ;  and  then 
I  couldn't  find  it  again.     I  got  turned  about." 

"  You  were  completely  turned  about  when  I  saw  you." 

"01  was  not  going  that  way — I  knew  better  than  that.  I 
was  trying  to  discover  some  waymark." 

"  How  did  you  get  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  look  at  the  view — from  the  water's  edge  there." 

"  Have  you  a  mind  to  go  back  to  the  river  edge  again  ?  I 
have  not  seen  that  view  in  a  long  while.  I  shall  not  lose  the 
path."      ' 

"  Then  you  cannot  be  intending  to  go  by  an  early  coach," 
thought  Elizabeth,  as  she  picked  her  way  back  over  rocks  and 
moss  to  the  water's  edge.     But  Winthrop  knew  the  ground,  and 


498  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC. 

brought  her  a  few  steps  further  to  a  broad  standing-place  of  rock 
where  the  look-out  was  freer.  There  was  again  before  her  the 
sparkling  river,  the  frost-touched  mountain,  the  sharp  outlines, 
the  varying  shadows,  that  she  had  looked  at  a  few  minutes  back. 
Elizabeth  looked  at  them  again,  thinking  now  not  of  them  but  of 
something  different  at  every  turn. 

"  The  rock  is  too  wet,"  said  "Winthrop,  "  or  I  should  propose 
your  sitting  down." 

"  You  certainly  must  have  had  your  breakfast,"  thought 
Eliaabeth,  "  and  not  know  that  I  haven't  had  mine." 

"  I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  she  said  quietly.  A  pang  of  fear 
again  came  to  her  heart,  that  in  another  minute  or  two  he  would 
be  off  to  Mountain  Spring.  But  his  next  movement  negatived 
that.  It  was  to  take  her  basket,  which  she  had  till  then  tried  to 
carry  so  that  it  would  not  be  noticed.  She  was  thankful  he  did 
not  know  what  was  in  it. 

"  Do  you  often  take  such  early  walks  as  this?" 

"  No,  not  often,"  said  Elizabeth  guiltily.     "  I  row  more." 

"So  early?" 

"  No,  not  generally.  Though  there  is  no  time  more  plea- 
sant." 

"  You  are  looking  well,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Better  than  I  ever 
saw  you  look." 

"  It's  very  odd,"  thought  Elizabeth, — "  it  must  be  the  flush 
of  my  walk — I  didn't  look  so  this  morning  in  the  glass — nor  last 
night. — "     But  she  looked  up  and  said  boldly,  laughing, 

"  I  thought  you  came  here  to  see  the  prospect,  Mr.  Land- 
holm." 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  need  not 
say  anything  about  that — it  never  changes." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  do  ?  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Everybody  ought  to  change  for  the  better,  always,"  he  said 
with  a  little  smile, — "  so  I  hope  you  are  capable  of  that." 

Elizabeth  thought  in  her  heart,  though  she  was  no  better,  yet 
that  she  had  truly  changed  for  the  better,  since  former  times ;  she 
half  wanted  to  tell  him  so,  the  friend  who  had  had  most  to  do 
with  changing  her.  But  a  consciousness  of  many  things  and  an 
honest  fear  of  speaking  good  of  herself,  kept  her  lips  shut;  though 
her  heart  beat  with  the  wish  and  the  doubt.  Winthrop's  next 
words  in  a  few  minutes  decided  it. 

"  What  is  the  fact,  Miss  Elizabeth  ?  " 

Elizabeth  hesitated, — and  hesitated.     He  looked  at  her. 


THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMUC.  499 

"  I  hope  I  am  changed,  a  little,  Mr.  Landholm ;  but  there  is 
a  great  deal  more  to  change  !  " 

Her  face  was  very  ingenuous  and  somewhat  sorrowful,  as  she 
turned  it  towards  him ;  but  his  looked  so  much  brighter  than  she 
had  ever  seen  it,  that  the  meeting  of  the  two  tides  was  just  more 
than  her  spirits  could  bear.  The  power  of  commanding  herself, 
which  for  the  last  few  minutes  had  been  growing  less  and  less, 
gave  way.  Her  look  shrank  from  his.  Winthrop  had  come 
nearer  to  her,  and  had  clasped  the  hand  that  was  nearest  him 
and  held  it  in  his  own.  It  was  a  further  expression  of  the  plea- 
sure she  had  seen  in  his  smile.  Elizabeth  was  glad  that  her  own 
face  was  hidden  by  her  sunbonnet.  She  would  not  have  either  its 
pain  or  its  pleasure  to  be  seen.  Both  were  sharp  enough  just 
then.     But  strong  necessity  made  her  keep  outwardly  quiet. 

"  What  does  the  change  date  from  ?  " 

"  As  to  time,  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  struggling. 

"  As  to  time,  and  motive." 

"  The  time  is  but  lately,"  she  said  with  a  tremulous  voice, — 
"  though  I  have  thought  about  it,  more  or  less,  for  a  good  while." 

"  Thought  what  ?  " 

"  Felt  that  you  were  right  and  I  was  wrong,  Mr.  Landholm." 

"  What  made  you  think  you  were  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  felt  that  I  was— I  knew  it." 

"  What  makes  you  think  you  are  changed  now  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  dare  speak  of  it — it  is  so  little." 

"  You  may,  I  hope, — to  me." 

"  It  is  hardly  /  that  am  changed,  so  much  as  my  motives  and 
views." 

"  And  they — how  ?  "  he  said  after  waiting  a  moment. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "  lately,  that  I  am  willing 
to  go  by  a  new  rule  of  life  from  that  I  used  to  follow." 

"  What  is  the  new  rule  ?  " 

"  Well — No*  my  own  will,  Mr.  Landholm." 

He  stood  silent  a  little  while.  Her  hand  was  still  held  in 
his.  Elizabeth  would  have  thought  he  had  forgotten  it,  but  that 
it  was  held  in  a  free  clasp  which  did  not  seem  to  imply  forgetful- 
ness.     It  was  enough  to  forbid  it  on  her  part. 

"  How  does  the  new  rule  work  ?  "  was  his  next  question. 

"  It  works  hard,  Mr.  Landholm !  "  said  Elizabeth,  turning  her 
face  suddenly  upon  him  for  an  instant.  His  look  was  bright,  but 
she  felt  that  her  own  eyes  were  swimming. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  all  this  ?  "  he  said 
after  another  little  pause. 


500  THE  HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTJC. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth  under  breath, — "  I  supposed  you  would 
be.— I  knew  you  would." 

"  I  hope  you  like  being  catechized,"  he  said  in  a  lighter  tone. 

"  Yes — I  do — by  anybody  that  has  a  right  to  do  it  " 

"  I  have  taken  the  right." 

"  Certainly ! — You  have  the  best  in  the  world." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  though  I  don't  exactly  see  how  you 
make  it  out." 

"  Why ! — it's  not  necessary  to  explain  how  I  make  it  out," 
said  Elizabeth. 

"  No, — especially  as  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  give  it  to  me 
for  the  future." 

"  What  ?  " — said  she  looking  at  him. 

He  became  grave. 

"  Miss  Haye,  I  have  a  great  boon  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Well  ?  " — said  Elizabeth  eagerly.  "  I  am  very  glad  you 
nave  1 " 

"Why?" 

u  Why  ? — why,  because  it's  pleasant." 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is,  yet." 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  but  my  words  are  safe." 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  something." 

"  You  preface  it  as  if  it  were  some  great  thing,  and  you  look 
as  if  it  was  nothing,"  thought  Elizabeth  a  little  in  wonderment. 
But  she  said  only, 

"  You  may  have  it.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Guess." 

u  I  can't  possibly." 

"  You  are  incautious.  You  don't  know  what  you  are  giving 
away." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Yourself." 

Elizabeth  looked  quick  away,  not  to  see  anything,  with  the 
mind's  eye  or  any  other,  for  a  blur  came  over  both.  She  was  no 
fainter ;  she  was  strong  of  mind  and  body ;  but  the  one  and  the 
other  were  shaken ;  and  for  that  bit  of  time,  and  it  was  several 
minutes,  her  senses  performed  no  office  at  all.  And  when  con- 
sciousness of  distinct  things  began  to  come  back,  there  came 
among  all  her  other  feelings  an  odd  perverse  fear  of  shewing  the 
uppermost  one  or  two,  and  a  sort  of  mortified  unreadiness  to  strike 
her  colours  and  yield  at  once  without  having  made  a  bit  of  fight 
for  it.  Yet  these  were  not  the  uppermost  feelings,  but  they  were 
there,  among  them  and  struggling  with  them.     She  stood  quite 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMITC,  501 

still,  her  face  hidden  by  her  sunbonnet,  and  her  companion  was 
quite  still  too  with  her  hand  still  in  his,  held  in  the  same  free 
light  clasp ;  and  she  had  a  vexed  consciousness  of  his  being  far 
the  cooler  of  the  two.  While  she  was  thus  silent,  however, 
Elizabeth's  head,  and  her  very  figure,  was  bowed  lower  and  lower 
with  intensity  of  feeling. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  Winthrop  said ;  and  the  tone  of 
those  words  conquered  her.  The  proud  Miss  Haye  made  a  very 
humble  answer. 

"I  am  very  glad,  Mr.  Landholm — but  I  am  not  good 
enough." 

"For  what?" 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  answer. 

"  I  will  take  my  risk  of  that,"  said  he  kindly.  Besides,  you 
have  confessed  the  power  of  changing." 

The  risk,  or  something  else,  seemed  to  lie  upon  .Elizabeth's 
mind,  from  the  efforts  she  was  making  to  overcome  emotion. 
Winthrop  observed  her  for  a  moment. 

"  But  you  have  not  spoken,  yet,"  said  he.  "  I  want  a  con- 
firmation of  my  grant." 

She  knew  from  his  tone  that  his  mood  was  the  very  reverse 
of  hers ;  and  it  roused  the  struggle  again.  "  Provoking  man ! " 
she  thought,  "  why  couldn't  he  ask  me  in  any  other  way ! — And 
why  need  he  smile  when  I  am  crying ! — "  She  commanded  her- 
self to  raise  her  head,  however,  though  she  did  not  dare  look. 

"  Am  I  to  have  it  ?  " 

"To  have  what?" 

"  An  answer." 

"  I  don't  know  what  it's  to  be,  Mr.  Landholm,"  Elizabeth 
stammered.     "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  what  I  asked  you  for  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  knew  you  had  it  already,"  she  said,  not  a 
little  vexed  to  have  the  words  drawn  from  her. 

"  It  is  mine,  then  ?  " 

«  Yes—" 

"  Then,"  said  he,  coming  in  full  view  of  her  blushing  face  and 
taking  the  other  hand, — "  what  are  you  troubled  for  ?  " 

Elizabeth  could  not  have  borne  it  one  instant,  to  meet  his  eye, 
without  breaking  into  a  flood  of  tears  she  had  no  hands  to  cover. 
As  her  only  way  of  escape,  she  sprang  to  one  side  freeing  one  of 
her  hands  on  the  sudden,  and  jumped  down  the  rock,  muttering 
something  very  unintelligibly  about  '  breakfast.'  But  her  other 
hand  was  fast  still,  and  so  was  she  at  the  foot  of  the  rock. 


502  THE  HILLS   OF  THE  SHATEMUC. 

"  Stop,"  said  Winthrop, — "  we  must  take  this  basket  along.—- 
I  don't  know  if  there  is  anything  very  precious  in  it." — 

He  reached  after  it  as  he  spoke,  and  then  they  went  on ;  and 
by  the  help  of  his  hand  her  backward  journey  over  rocks,  stones, 
and  trunks  of  trees  in  the  path,  was  easily  and  lightly  made ;  till 
they  reached  the  little  bit  of  meadow.  Which  backward  journey 
Elizabeth  accomplished  in  about  two  minutes  and  a  quarter. 
There  Winthrop  transferred  to  his  arm  the  hand  that  had  rested 
in  his,  and  walked  more  leisurely. 

"  Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  for  your  breakfast  ?  "  said  he.  "  I 
have  had  mine." 

"  Had  it ! — before  you  came  out  ?  " 

"  No," — said  he  smiling, — "  since. 

"Are  you  laughing  at  me? — or  have  you  had  it?"  said 
Elizabeth  looking  puzzled. 

"  Both,"  said  Winthrop.  "  What  are  you  trembling  so 
for?" 

It  hushed  Elizabeth  again,  till  they  got  quit  of  the  meadow, 
and  began  more  slowly  still,  the  ascent  of  the  rough  half-made 
wheel-road. 

"  Miss  Haye — "  said  Winthrop  gently. 

She  paused  in  her  walk,  looking  at  him. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  " 

"Thinking  of!—" 

"Yes.     You  don't  look  as  happy  as  I  feel." 

"  I  am," —  she  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

What  a  colour  spread  over  Elizabeth's  face!  But  she 
laughed  too,  so  perhaps  his  end  was  gained. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  with  the  desperate  need  of  saying 
something, — "  a  little  while  ago,  when  you  were  helping  me 
through  the  woods, — how  a  very  few  minutes  before,  I  had  been 
80  quite  alone  in  the  world." 

"  Don't  forget  there  is  one  arm  that  never  can  fail  you,"  he 
replied  gravely.     "  Mine  may." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  rather  timidly,  and  his  face  changed. 

"  There  was  no  harm  in  that,"  he  said,  with  so  bright  an  ex- 
pression as  she  had  never  before  seen  given  to  her.  "  What  will 
you  say,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  myself  at  that  same  time  was  think- 
ing over  in  my  mind  very  much  the  same  thing — with  relation  to 
myself,  I  mean." 

Elizabeth's  heart  beat  and  her  breath  came  short.  That  was 
what  she  had  never  thought  of.     Like  many  another  woman,  what 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMFC.  503 

he  was  to  her,  she  knew  well ;  what  she  might  be  to  hini,  it  had 
never  entered  her  head  to  think.  It  seemed  almost  a  new  and 
superfluous  addition  to  her  joy,  yet  not  superfluous  from  that  time 
forth  for  ever.  Once  known,  it  was  too  precious  a  thought  to  be 
again  untasted.  She  hung  her  head  over  it ;  she  stepped  all  un- 
wittingly on  rocks  and  short  grass  and  wet  places  and  dry, 
wherever  she  was  led.  It  made  her  heart  beat  thick  to  think  she 
could  be  so  valued.  How  was  it  possible !  How  she  wished — 
how  keenly — that  she  could  have  been  of  the  solid  purity  of  silver 
or  gold,  to  answer  the  value  put  upon  her.  But  instead  of  that 
— what  a  far-off  difference  !  Winthrop  could  not  know  how  great, 
or  he  would  never  have  said  that,  or  felt  it ;  nor  could  he  ?  What 
about  her  could  possibly  have  attracted  it  ? 

She  had  not  much  leisure  to  ponder  the  question,  for  her  At- 
tention was  called  off  to  answer  present  demands.  And  there  was 
another  subject  for  pondering — Winthrop  did  not  seem  like  the 
same  person  she  had  known  under  the  same  name,  he  was  so  much 
more  free  and  pleasant  and  bright  to  talk  than  he  had  ever  been 
to  her  before,  or  in  her  observation,  to  anybody.  He  talked  to  a 
very  silent  listener,  albeit  she  lost  never  a  word  nor  a  tone.  She 
wondered  at  him  and  at  everything,  and  stepped  along  wonder- 
ing, with  a  heart  too  full  to  speak,  almost  too  full  to  hide  its 
agitation. 

They  were  nearing  home,  they  had  got  quit  of  the  woodway 
road,  and  were  in  a  cleared  field,  grown  with  tall  cedars,  which 
skirted  the  river.  Half  way  across  it,  Elizabeth's  foot  paused, 
and  came  to  a  full  stop.     What  was  the  matter  ? 

Elizabeth  faced  round  a  little,  as  if  addressing  her  judge,, 
though  she  spoke  without  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Landholm — do  you  know  that  I  am  full  of  faults  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  aren't  you  afraid  of  them  ?  " 

"  No, — not  at  all,"  he  said,  smiling.  Elizabeth  knew.  But 
she  answered  very  gravely, 

"  I  am." 

"  Which  is  the  best  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should  not  be. 
It  is  written  '  Blessed  is  the  man  that  feareth  always.'  " 

"  I  am  afraid — you  don't  know  me." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he  smiling.  "  You  haven't  told  me 
anything  new  yet." 

"I  am  afraid  you  think  of  me,  somehow,  better  than  I 
deserve." 

*  What  is  the  remedy  for  that  ?  " 


504:  THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEMTC. 

Elizabeth  hesitated,  with  an  instant's  vexed  consciousness  of 
his  provoking  coolness ;  then  looking  up  met  his  eye  for  a  second, 
laughed,  and  went  on  perfectly  contented.  But  she  wondered 
with  a  little  secret  mortification,  that  Winthrop  was  as  perfectly 
at  home  and  at  his  ease  in  the  newly  established  relations  between 
them  as  if  they  had  subsisted  for  six  months.  "  Is  it  nothing 
new  to  him  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Did  he  know  that  it  only 
depended  on  him  to  speak  ? — or  is  it  his  way  with  all  the  world  ?  " 
It  was  not  that  she  was  undervalued,  or  slightly  regarded,  but 
valued  and  regarded  with  such  unchanged  self-possession.  Mean- 
while they  reached  the  edge  of  the  woodland,  from  which  the 
house  and  garden  were  to  be  seen  close  at  hand. 

"  Stay  here,"  said  Winthrop ; — "  I  will  carry  this  basket  in 
and  let  them  know  you  may  be  expected  to  breakfast." 

"But  if  you  do  that, — "  said  Elizabeth  colouring — 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  will  think." 

"  They  may  think  what  they  have  a  mind,"  said  he  with  a 
little  bit  of  a  smile  again.     "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Elizabeth  winced  a  bit.  He  was  gone,  and  she  stood  think- 
ing, among  other  things,  that  he  might  have  asked  what  she 
would  like.  And  how  did  he  know  but  breakfast  was  ready 
then  ?  Or  did  he  know  everything  ?  And  how  quietly  and  un- 
qualifiedly, to  be  sure,  he  had  taken  her  consignment  that  morn- 
ing. She  did  not  know  whether  to  like  it  or  not  like  it, — till  she 
saw  him  coming  again  from  the  house. 

"  After  all,"  said  he,  "  I  think  we  had  better  go  in  and 
take  breakfast,  and  talk  afterwards.  It  seems  to  be  in  a  good 
state  of  forwardness." 


CHAPTER  XLIT 


From  eastern  quarters  now 

The  sun's  up-wandering, 
His  rays  on  the  rock's  brow 

And  hill-side  squandering ; 
Bo  glad  iny  soul  1  and  sing  amidst  thy  pleasure, 

Fly  from  the  house  of  dust, 

Up  with  thy  thanks  and  trust 
To  heaven's  azure  I 

Thomas  Kingo. 


It  was  sufficiently  proven  at  that  breakfast,  to  Elizabeth's 
satisfaction,  that  it  is  possible  for  one  to  be  at  the  same  time  both 
very  happy  and  a  little  uncomfortable.  She  had  a  degree  of 
consciousness  upon  her  that  amounted  to  that,  more  especially  as 
she  had  a  vexed  knowledge  that  it  was  shared  by  at  least  one  person 
in  the  room.  The  line  of  Clam's  white  teeth  had  never  glimmered 
more  mischievously.  Elizabeth  dared  not  look  at  her.  And 
she  dared  not  look  at  "VVinthrop,  and  she  dared  not  look  at  Rose. 
But  Rose,  to  do  her  justice,  seemed  to  be  troubled  with  no  con- 
sciousness beyond  what  was  usual  with  her,  and  which  generally 
concerned  only  herself;  and  she  and  Winthrop  kept  up  the  spirit 
of  talk  with  great  ease  all  breakfast  time. 

"  Now  how  in  the  world  are  we  going  to  get  away  ?  "  thought 
Elizabeth  when  breakfast  was  finishing ; — "  without  saying  fiat 
and  bald  why  we  do  it.  Rose  will  want  to  go  too,  for  she  likes 
Winthrop  quite  well  enough  for  that." — 

And  with  the  consciousness  that  she  could  not  make  the 
slightest  manoeuvre,  Elizabeth  rose  from  table. 

"  How  soon  must  you  go,  Mr.  Landholm  ? "  said  Rose 
winningly. 

"  Presently,  ma'am." 

11 1  am  sorry  you  must  go  so  soon  !     But  we  haven't  a  room 
to  ask  you  to  sit  down  in,  if  you  were  to  stay." 
22 


500  THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shouldn't  wait  to  be  asked,  if  I  stayed,"  said 
Winthrop.  "  But  as  I  am  not  to  sit  down  again — Miss  Haye — 
if  you  will  put  on  your  bonnet  and  give  me  your  company  a  little 
part  of  my  way,  I  will  keep  my  promise." 

"  What  promise  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  I  will  do  better  than  my  promise,  for  I  mean  to  shew  Miss 
Haye  a  point  of  her  property  which  perhaps  she  has  not  looked 
at  lately." 

"  Oh  will  you  shew  it  to  me  too  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  I  will  if  there  is  time  enough  after  I  have  brought  Miss 
Haye  back — I  can't  take  both  at  once." 

Rose  looked  mystified,  and  Elizabeth  very  glad  to  put  on  her 
bonnet,  was  the  first  out  of  the  house ;  half  laughing,  and  half 
trembling  with  the  excitement  of  getting  off. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  said  Winthrop  as 
he  came  up, — "  now  that  breakfast  is  over." 

Elizabeth  was  silent,  troubled  with  that  consciousness  still, 
though  now  alone  with  the  subject  of  it.  He  turned  off  from  the 
road,  and  led  her  back  into  the  woods  a  little  way,  in  the  same 
path  by  which  she  had  once  gone  hunting  for  a  tree  to  cut 
down. 

"  It  isn't  as  pretty  a  time  of  day  as  when  I  went  out  this 
morning,"  she  said,  forcing  herself  to  say  something. 

But  Winthrop  seemed  in  a  state  of  pre-occupation  too ;  till 
they  reached  a  boulder  capped  with  green  ferns. 

"  Now  give  me  your  hand,"  said  he.     "  Can  you  climb  ?" 

They  turned  short  by  the  boulder  and  began  to  mount  the  steep 
rugged  hill-path,  down  which  he  had  once  carried  his  little  sister. 
Elizabeth  could  make  better  footing  than  poor  Winifred ;  and 
very  soon  they  stood  on  the  old  height  from  which  they  could 
see  the  fair  Shatemuc  coming  down  between  the  hills  and  sweep- 
ing round  their  own  little  woody  Shahweetah  and  off  to  the  South 
Bend.  The  sun  was  bright  on  all  the  land  now,  though  the  cedars 
shielded  the  bit  of  hill-top  well ;  and  Wut-a-qut-o  looked  down 
upon  them  in  all  his  gay  Autumn  attire.  The  sun  was  bright, 
but  the  air  was  clear  and  soft  and  free  from  mist  and  cloud  and 
obscurity,  as  no  sky  is  but  October's. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Winthrop,  throwing  himself  on  the  bank 
which  was  carpeted  with  very  short  green  grass. 

"  I  would  just  as  lieve  stand,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  wouldn't  as  lieve  have  you.  You've  been  on  your  feet 
long  enough  to-day.     Come  ! " 

She  yielded  to  the  gentle  pulling  of  her  hand,  and  sat  down 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  507 

on  the  grass ;  half  amused  and  half  fretted ;  wondering  what  he 
was  going  to  say  next.  Winthrop  was  silent  for  a  little  space ; 
and  Elizabeth  sat  looking  straight  before  her,  or  rather  with  her 
head  a  little  turned  to  the  right,  from  her  companion,  towards 
Wut-a-qut-o ;  the  deep  sides  of  her  sun-bonnet  shutting  out  all 
but  a  little  framed  picture  of  the  gay  woody  foreground,  a  bit  of 
the  blue  river,  and  the  mountain's  yellow  side. 

"How  beautiful  it  was  all  down  there,  three  or  four  hours 
ago,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  so  much  romance  in  your  disposition 
— to  go  there  this  morning  to  meet  me." 

"  I  didn't  go  there  to  meet  ;jiou." 

"  Yes  you  did." 

"  I  didn't !  "  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  meeting  you." 

"  Nevertheless,  in  the  regular  chain  and  sequence  of  events, 
you  went  there  to  meet  me — if  you  hadn't  gone  you  wouldn't 
have  met  me." 

"  0,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way,"  said  Elizabeth, — "  there's  no 
harm  in  that." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  it  at  all.     Quite  the  contrary." 

"  I  think  it  was  the  prettiest  walk  I  ever  took  in  my  life," 
said  Elizabeth, — "  before  that,  I  mean,"  she  added  blushing. 

"  My  experience  would  say,  after  it,"  said  Winthrop,  in  an 
amused  tone. 

"  It  was  rather  a  confused  walk  after  that,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  I  never  was  quite  so  much  surprised." 

"  You  see  I  had  not  that  disadvantage.    I  was  only — gratified." 

"  Why,"  said  Elizabeth,  her  jealous  fear  instantly  starting 
again,  u  you  didn't  know  what  my  answer  would  be  before  you 
asked  me  ?  " 

She  waited  for  Winthrop's  answer,  but  none  came.  Elizabeth 
could  not  bear  it. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  she  said,  looking  round  in  her  eagerness. 

He  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  answered, 

"  Did  you  ?  " 

Elizabeth  had  no  words.  Her  face  sought  the  shelter  of  her 
sunbonnet  again,  and  she  almost  felt  as  if  she  would  have  liked 
to  seek  the  shelter  of  the  earth  bodily,  by  diving  down  into  it. 
Her  brain  was  swimming.  There  was  a  rush  of  thoughts  and 
ideas,  a  train  of  scattered  causes  and  consequences.,  which  then 
she  had  no  power  to  set  in  order ;  but  the  rush  almost  over- 
whelmed her,  and  what  was  wanting,  shame  added.     She  was 


508  THE   HILLS   OF    THE   SHATEMUC. 

vexed  with  herself  for  her  jealousy  in  divining  and  her  impatience 
in  asking  foolish  questions  ;  and  in  her  vexation  was  ready  to  be 
vexed  with  Winthrop, — if  she  only  knew  how.  She  longed  to 
lay  her  head  down  in  her  hands,  but  pride  kept  it  up.  She 
rested  her  chin  on  one  hand  and  wondered  when  Winthrop  would 
speak  again, — she  could  not, — and  what  he  would  say ;  gazing  at 
the  blue  bit  of  water  and  gay  mountain-side,  and  thinking  that 
she  was  not  giving  him  a  particularly  favourable  specimen  of  her- 
self that  morning,  and  vexed  out  of  measure  to  think  it. 

Then  upon  this,  a  very  quietly  spoken  "  Elizabeth  !  " — came 
to  her  ear.  It  was  the  first  time  Winthrop  had  called  her  so ; 
but  that  was  not  all.  Quietly  spoken  as  it  was,  there  was  not 
only  a  little  inquiry,  there  was  a  little  amusement  and  a  little 
admonition,  in  the  tone.  It  stirred  Elizabeth  to  her  spirit's 
depths,  but  with  several  feelings ;  and  for  the  life  of  her  she 
could  not  have  spoken. 

"  What  is  the  reason  you  should  hide  your  face  so  carefully 
from  me  ?  "  he  went  on  presently,  much  in  the  same  tone.  "  Mine 
is  open  to  you — it  isn't  fair  play." 

Elizabeth  could  have  laughed  if  she  had  not  been  afraid  of 
crying.  She  kept  herself  hid  in  her  sunbonnet  and  made  no 
reply. 

"  Suppose  you  take  that  thing  off,  and  let  me  look  at  you." 

u  It  shades  my  face  from  the  sun." 

"  The  cedar  trees  will  do  that  for  you." 

"  No— they  wouldn't." 

And  she  kept  her  face  steadily  fixed  upon  the  opposite  shore, 
only  brought  straight  before  her  now ;  thinking  to  herself  that 
she  would  carry  this  point  at  any  rate.  But  in  another  minute 
she  was  somewhat  astounded  to  find  Winthrop's  left  hand,  he  was 
supporting  himself  carelessly  on  his  right,  quietly,  very  quietly, 
untying  her  sunbonnet  strings ;  and  then  rousing  himself,  with 
the  other  hand  he  lifted  the  bonnet  from  her  head.  It  gave  a 
full  view  then  of  hair  in  very  nice  order  and  a  face  not  quite  so  ; 
for  the  colour  had  now  flushed  to  her  very  temples  with  more 
feelings  than  one,  and  her  eye  was  downcast,  not  caring  to  shew 
its  revelations.  She  knew  that  Winthrop  took  an  observation 
of  all,  to  his  heart's  content ;  but  she  could  not  look  at  him  for 
an  instant.  Then  without  saying  anything,  he  got  up  and 
went  oiF  to  a  little  distance  where  he  made  himself  busy  among 
some  of  the  bushes  and  vines  which  were  gay  with  the  fall  colouring 
Elizabeth  sat  drooping  her  head  on  her  knees,  for  she  could  not 
absolutely  hold  it  up.     She  looked  at  her  sunbonnet  lying  on 


THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC.  509 

the  bank  beside  her ;  but  it  is  not  an  improper  use  of  language 
to  say  that  she  dared  not  put  it  on. 

"  I  have  met  my  master  now,"  she  thought,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled, — "  once  for  all — if  I  never  did  before. — What  a  fool 
I  am  !  "  ' 

For  she  knew,  she  acknowledged  to  herself  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, that  she  did  not  like  him  the  less  for  it — she  liked  him  ex- 
ceedingly the  more ;  in  spite  of  a  twinge  of  deep  mortification 
about  it,  and  though  there  was  bitter  shame  that  he  should  know 
or  guess  any  of  her  feeling.  1/  her  eyes  sparkled,  they  sparkled 
through  tears. 

The  tears  were  got  rid  of,  for  Winthrop  came  back  and  threw 
himself  down  again.  Then  with  that  he  began  to  put  wreaths  of 
the  orange  and  red  winterberries  and  sprays  of  wych  hazel  and  bits 
of  exquisite  ivy,  one  after  the  other,  into  her  hands.  Her  hands 
took  them  mechanically,  one  after  the  other.  Her  eyes  buried 
themselves  in  them.     She  wished  for  her  sunbonnet  shield  again. 

"  What  do  you  bring  these  to  me  for  ? "  she  said  rather 
abruptly. 

"  Don't  you  like  to  have  them  ?  "  said  he,  putting  into  her 
fingers  another  magnificent  piece  of  Virginia  creeper. 

"  Yes  indeed — very  much — but — " 

"  It  will  be  some  time  before  I  see  you  again,"  said  he  as  he 
added  the  last  piece  of  his  bunch.     "  These  will  be  all  gone." 

"  Some  time  !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes.  There  is  work  on  my  hands  down  yonder  that  admits 
of  no  delay.  I  could  but  just  snatch  time  enough  to  come  up 
here." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  these  !  "  said  Elizabeth, 
returning  to  her  bunch  of  brilliant  vine  branches. 

"  You  can  pay  me  for  them  in  any  way  you  please." 

The  colour  started  again,  but  it  was  a  very  gentle,  humble, 
and  frank  look  which  she  turned  round  upon  him.  His  was 
bright  enough. 

"  How  soon  do  you  think  of  coming  to  Mannahatta  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know, — "  said  Elizabeth,  not  choosing  to  say  ex- 
actly the  words  that  came  to  her  tongue. 

"  If  I  could  be  here  too,  I  should  say  this  is  the  best  place." 

"  Can't  you  come  often  enough  ?  " 

"  How  often  would  be  often  enough  ?  "  said  he  with  an 
amused  look. 

"  Leave  definitions  on  one  side,  and  please  answer  me." 

"  Willingly.  I  leave  the  definition  on  your  side.  I  don't 
like  to  speak  in  the  dark." 


510  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  Well,  can't  you  come  tolerably  often  ? "  said  Elizabeth 
colouring. 

He  smiled. 

"  Not  for  some  time.     My  hands  are  very  full  just  now." 

"  You  contrive  to  have  them  so  always,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  like  to  have  them  so.     It  is  not  always  my  contrivance." 

"  What  has  become  of  that  suit — I  don't  know  the  names  now 
— in  which  you  were  engaged  two  or  three  years  ago — in  which 
you  took  so  many  objections*,  and  the  Chancellor  allowed  them 
all, — against  Mr.  Brick  ?  " 

"  Ryle  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! — I  believe  that's  the  name." 

"  For  a  man  called  Jean  Lessing  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Lessing  -I  think  Ryle  was 
the  other  name — You  were  against  Ryle." 

"  Lessing  was  Mr.  Herder's  brother-in-law." 

a  I  don't  remember  Mr.  Herder's  brother-in-law — though  I 
believe  Mr.  Herder  did  have  something  to  do  with  the  case,  or 
some  interest  in  it." 

"  How  did  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  " 

a  You  haven't  answered  me,"  said  Elizabeth,  laughing  and 
colouring  brightly. 

"  One  question  is  as  good  as  another,"  said  Winthrop 
smiling. 

"  But  one  answer  i?  much  better  than  another,"  said  Elizabeth 
in  a  little  confusion. 

"  The  suit  against  Ryle  was  very  successful.  I  recovered  for 
him  some  ninety  thousand  dollars." 

"  Ninety  thousand  dollars  ! " — Her  thoughts  took  somewhat 
of  a  wide  circle  and  came  back. 

"  The  amount  recovered  is  hardly  a  fair  criterion  of  the  skill 
employed,  in  every  instance.     I  must  correct  your  judgment." 

"  I  know  more  about  it  than  that,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  How 
far  your  education  has  gone ! — and  mine  is  only  just  beginning." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  mine  was  much  more  than  begin- 
ning. Now  do  you  know  we  must  go  down  ? — for  I  must  be  at 
Mountain  Spring  to  meet  the  stage-coach." 

"  How  soon  ?  "  said  Elizabeth  springing  up. 

"  There  is  time  enough,  but  I  want  not  to  hurry  you  down 
the  hill." 

He  had  put  her  sunbonnet  on  her  head  again  and  was  re- 
tying  it. 

"  Mr.  Landholm— " 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMUC.  511 

u  You  must  not  call  me  that,"  he  said. 

"  Let  me,  till  I  can  get  courage  to  call  you  something  else." 

"  How  much  courage  does  it  want  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  stop,"  said  Elizabeth,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears,  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  say  one  word  of  what  I  want  to 
say." 

He  stood  still,  holding  the  striDgs  of  her  sunbonnet  in  either 
hand.     Elizabeth  gathered  breath,  or  courage,  and  went  on. 

"  A  little  while  ago  I  was  grieving  myself  to  think  that  you 
did  not  know  me — now,  I  am  very  much  ashamed  to  think  that 
you  do." — 

He  did  not  move,  nor  she. 

"  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  to  have  you  look  at  me.  My  only 
hope  is,  that  you  will  make  me  better." 

The  bonnet  did  not  hide  her  face  this  time.  He  looked  at  it 
a  little,  at  the  simplicity  of  ingenuous  trouble  which  was  working 
in  it, — and  then  pushing  the  bonnet  a  little  back,  kissed  first  one 
cheek  and  then  the  lips,  which  by  that  time  were  bent  down  al- 
most out  of  reach.  But  he  reached  them;  and  Elizabeth  was 
obliged  to  take  her  answer,  in  which  there  was  as  much  of  gentle 
forgiveness  and  promise  as  of  affection. 

"  You  see  what  you  have  to  expect,  if  you  talk  to  me  in  this 
strain,"  said  he  lightly.  "  I  think  I  shall  not  be  troubled  with 
much  more  of  it.  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  in  this  frame  of  mind. 
I  would  take  you  to  Mountain  Spring  in  the  boat — if  I  could 
bring  you  back  again." 

"  I  could  bring  myself  back,"  said  Elizabeth.  They  were 
going  down  the  hill;  in  the  course  of  which,  it  may  bo  remarked, 
Winthrop  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  she  once  saw  anything 
but  the  ground. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  tired." 

"  No  indeed  I  am  not.     I  should  like  it — if  there  is  time." 

"  Go  in  less  time  that  way  than  the  other." 

So  they  presently  reached  the  lower  ground. 

"  Do  you  want  anything  from  the  house  ?  "  said  Winthrop  as 
they  came  near  it. 

"  Only  the  oars — If  you  will  get  those,  I  will  untie  the  boat." 

"  Then  I'll  not  get  the  oars.  I'll  get  them  on  condition  that 
you  stand  still  here." 

So  they  went  down  together  to  the  rocks,  and  Elizabeth  put 
herself  in  the  stern  of  the  little  boat  and  they  pushed  off. 

To  any  people  who  could  think  of  anything  but  each  other, 
October  offered  enough  to  fill  eyes,  ears,  and  understanding ;  that 


512  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMTTC. 

is,  if  ears  can  be  filled  with  silence,  which  perhaps  is  predicable 
Absolute  silence  on  this  occasion  was  wanting,  as  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  talking;  but  for  eyes  and  understanding,  perhaps  it  may 
safely  be  said  that  those  of  the  two  people  in  the  Merry-go-round 
took  the  benefit  of  everything  they  passed  on  their  way ;  with  a 
reduplication  of  pleasure  which  arose  from  the  throwing  and 
catching  of  that  ball  of  conversation,  in  which,  like  the  herb- 
stuffed  ball  of  the  Arabian  physician  of  old, — lay  perdu  certain 
hidden  virtues,  of  sympathy.  But  Shahweetah's  low  rocky  shore 
never  offered  more  beauty  to  any  eyes,  than  to  theirs  that  day, 
as  they,  coasted  slowly  round  it.  Colours,  colours !  If  October 
had  been  a  dyer,  he  could  not  have  shewn  a  greater  variety  of 


There  were  some  locust  trees  in  the  open  cedar-grown  field  by 
the  river ;  trees  that  Mr.  Landholm  had  planted  long  ago.  They 
were  slow  to  turn,  yet  they  were  changing.  One  soft  feathery 
head  was  in  yellowish  green,  another  of  more  neutral  colour ;  and 
blending  with  them  were  the  tints  of  a  few  reddish  soft-tinted 
alders  below.  That  group  was  not  gay.  Further  on  were  a 
thicket  of  dull  coloured  alders  at  the  edge  of  some  flags,  and 
above  them  blazed  a  giant  huckleberry  bush  in  bright  flame 
colour ;  close  by  that  were  the  purple  red  tufts  of  some  common 
sumachs — the  one  beautifully  rich,  the  other  beautifully  striking. 
A  little  way  from  them  stood  a  tulip  tree,  its  green  changing  with 
yellow.  Beyond  came  cedars,  in  groups,  wreathed  with  bright 
tawny  grape  vines  and  splendid  Virginia  creepers,  now  in  full 
glory.  Above  their  tops,  on  the  higher  ground,  was  a  rich  green 
belt  of  pines — above  them,  the  changing  trees  of  the  forest 
again. 

Here  shewed  an  elm  its  straw-coloured  head — there  stood  an 
ash  in  beautiful  grey-purple ;  very  stately.  The  cornus  family  in 
rich  crimson — others  crimson  purple ;  maples  shewing  yellow  and 
flame-colour  and  red  all  at  once ;  one  beauty  still  in  green  was 
orange-tipped  with  rich  orange.  The  birches  were  a  darker  hue 
of  the  same  colour ;  hickories  bright  as  gold. 

Then  came  the  rocks,  and  rocky  precipitous  point  of  Shahwee- 
tah;  and  the  echo  of  the  row-locks  from  the  wall.  Then  the 
point  was  turned,  and  the  little  boat  sought  the  bottom  of  the 
bay,  nearing  Mountain  Spring  all  the  while.  The  water  was 
glassy  smooth ;  the  boat  went — too  fast. 

Down  in  the  bay  the  character  of  the  woodland  was  a  little 
different.  It  was  of  fuller  growth,  and  with  many  fewer  ever- 
greens, and  some  addition  to  the  variety  of  the  changing  deciduous 


THE   HILLS   OF   THE   SHATEMtTC.  513 

leaves.  When  they  got  qnite  to  the  bottom  of  the  bay  and  were 
coasting  along  close  under  the  shore,  there  was  perhaps  a  more 
striking  display  of  Autumn's  glories  at  their  side,  than  the  rocks 
of  Shahweetah  could  shew  them.  They  coasted  slowly  along, 
looking  and  talking.     The  combinations  were  beautiful. 

There  was  the  dark  fine  bright  red  of  some  pepperidges  shew- 
ing behind  the  green  of  an  unchanged  maple;  near  by  stood 
another  maple  the  leaves  of  which  were  all  seemingly  withered, 
a  plain  reddish  light  wood-colour;  while  below  its  withered 
foliage  a  thrifty  poison  sumach  wreathing  round  its  trunk  and 
lower  branches,  was  in  a  beautiful  confusion  of  fresh  green  and 
the  orange  and  -red  changes,  yet  but  just  begun.  Then  another 
slight  maple  with  the  same  dead  wood-coloured  leaves,  into  which 
to  the  very  top  a  Virginia  creeper  had  twined  itself,  and  that  was 
now  brilliantly  scarlet,  magnificent  in  the  last  degree.  Another 
like  it  a  few  trees  off — both  reflected  gorgeously  in  the  still  water. 
Rock  oaks  were  part  green  and  part  sear;  at  the  edge  of  the 
shore  below  them  a  quantity  of  reddish  low  shrubbery ;  the  cornus, 
dark  crimson  and  red  brown,  with  its  white  berries  shewing  un- 
derneath, and  more  pepperidges  in  very  bright  red.  One  maple 
stood  with  its  leaves  parti-coloured  reddish  and  green — another 
with  beautiful  orange-coloured  foliage.  Ashes  in  superb  very 
dark  purple;  they  were  all  changed.  Then  alders,  oaks,  and 
chestnuts  still  green.  A  kaleidoscope  view,  on  water  and  land, 
as  the  little  boat  glided  along  sending  rainbow  ripples  in  towards 
the  shore. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  bay  Winthrop  brought  the  boat  to  land, 
under  a  great  red  oak  which  stood  in  its  fair  dark  green  beauty 
yet  at  the  very  edge  of  the  water.  Mountain  Spring  was  a  little 
way  off,  hidden  by  an  outsetting  point  of  woods.  As  the  boat 
touched  the  tree-roots,  Winthrop  laid  in  the  oars  and  came  and 
took  a  seat  by  the  boat's  mistress. 

"  Are  you  going  to  walk  to  Mountain  Spring  the  rest  of  the 
way  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No." 

li  Will  the  stage-coach  take  you  up  here  ?  " 

"  If  it  comes,  it  will.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your- 
self now,  till  I  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  There's  enough  to  do,"  said  Elizabeth  sighing.  "  I  am 
going  to  try  to  behave  myself.  How  soon  will  the  coach  be  here 
now  ?  " 

"  I  think,  not  until  I  ha^e  seen  you  about  half  way  over  the 
bay  on  your  way  home." 


514  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

"  0  you  will  not  see  me,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  I  am  not  going 
before  the  coach  does." 

"  Yes  you  are." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

u  Because  it  will  not  come  till  I  have  seen  you  at  least,  1 
should  judge,  half  across  the  bay." 

"  But  I  don't  ivant  to  go." 

"  You  are  so  unaccustomed  to  doing  things  you  don't  want  to 
do,  that  it  is  good  discipline  for  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  seriously  ?  "  said  Elizabeth,  looking  a 
little  disturbed. 

"  I  mean  it  half  seriously,"  said  he  laughing,  getting  up  to 
push  the  boat  to  shore,  which  had  swung  a  little  off. 

"  But  nobody  likes,  or  wants,  self-imposed  discipline,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

"  This  isn't  self-imposed — I  impose  it,"  said  he  throwing  the 
rope  round  a  branch  of  the  tree.  "  I  don't  mean  anything  that 
need  make  you  look  so"  he  added  as  he  came  back  to  his  place. 

Elizabeth  looked  up  and  her  brow  cleared. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  I  will  do  just  as  you 
please." 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  he  gently  taking  her  hand — "  What  do 
you  '  dare  say  '  I  am  right  about  ?  " 

"  This — or  anything,"  Elizabeth  said,  her  eye  wavering  be- 
tween the  water  and  the  shore. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that." 

"  But  how  am  I  going  to  help  it  ?  " 

He  smiled  a  little  and  looked  grave  too. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  lesson  to  study." 

"Well? — "  said  Elizabeth  with  quick  pleasure;  and  she 
watched,  very  like  a  child,  while  Winthrop  sought  in  his  pocket 
and  brought  out  an  old  letter,  tore  off  a  piece  of  the  back  and 
wrote  on  his  knee  with  a  pencil. 

Then  he  gave  it  to  her. 

But  it  was  the  precept, — 

'  Little  children,  keep  yourselves  from  idols.' 

Elizabeth's  face  changed,  and  her  eyes  lifted  themselves  not 
up  again.  The  colour  rose,  and  spread,  and  deepened,  and  her 
head  only  bent  lower  down  over  the  paper.  That  thrust  was 
with  a  barbed  weapon.  And  there  was  a  profound  hush,  and  a 
bended  head  and  a  pained  brow,  till  a  hand  came  gently  between 
her  eyes  and  the  paper  and  occupied  the  fingers  that  held  it.     It 


THE   HILLS   OF  THE   SHATEHUC-  515 

was  the  same  hand  that  her  fancy  had  once  seen  full  of  character 
— she  saw  it  again  now ;  her  thoughts  made  a  spring  back  to 
that  time  and  then  to  this.     She  looked  up. 

It  was  a  look  to  see.  There  was  a  witching  mingling  of  the 
frank,,  the  childlike,  and  the  womanly,  in  her  troubled  face ; 
frankness  that  would  not  deny  the  truth  that  her  monitor  seemed 
to  have  read,  a  childlike  simplicity  of  shame  that  he  should 
have  divined  it,  and  a  womanly  self-respect  that  owned  it  had 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  These  were  not  all  the  feelings  that 
were  at  work,  nor  that  shewed  their  working ;  and  it  was  a  face 
of  brilliant  expression  that  Elizabeth  lifted  to  her  companion. 
In  the  cheeks  the  blood  spoke  brightly ;  in  the  eyes,  fire ;  there 
was  more  than  one  tear  there,  too ;  and  the  curve  of  the  lips  was 
unbent  with  a  little  tremulous  play.  Winthrop  must  hare  been 
a  man  of  self-command  to  have  stood  it ;  but  he  looked  ap- 
parently no  more  concerned  than  if  old  Karen  had  lifted  up  her 
face  at  him. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  and  the  moved  line  of  the  lips 
might  plainly  be  seen, — "  you  are  making  it  the  more  hard  for 
me  to  learn  your  lesson,  even  in  the  very  giving  it  me  ?  " 

«  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Elizabeth  hesitated,  and  conquered  herself. 

"  I  guess  you  needn't  do  anything,"  she  said  half  laughing. 
"  I'll  try  and  do  my  part." 

There  was  a  little  answer  of  the  face  then,  that  sent  Eliza- 
beth's eyes  to  the  ground. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  these  words  ?  "  she  said  looking  at 
them  again. 

"  I  don't  mean  anything.     I  simply  give  them  to  you." 

"  Yes,  and  I  might  see  an  old  musket  standing  round  the 
house ;  but  if  you  take  it  up  and  present  it  at  me,  it  is  fair  to  ask, 
what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  an  old  musket,  to  begin  with,"  said  Winthrop 
laughing ;  "  and  if  it  goes  off,  it  will  shoot  you  through  the 
heart" 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me  entirely,  this  morning ! " 
said  Elizabeth.  "  I  give  up.  I  hope  the  next  time  you  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  me,  I  shall  be  myself." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  intend  to  keep  my  identity.  Now  as  that  stage- 
coach will  not  come  till  you  get  half  over  the  bay " 

And  a  few  minutes  thereafter,  the  little  boat  was  skimming 
back  for  the  point  of  Shahweetah,  though  not  quite  so  swiftly  as 
it  had  come.    But  Elizabeth  was  not  a  mean  oarsman  ;  and  in  good 


516  THE    HILLS    OF    THE    SHATEMUC. 

time  sho  got  home,  and  moored  the  Merry-go-round  in  its 
place. 

She  was  walking  up  to  the  house  then,  in  very  happy  mood, 
one  hand  depending  musingly  at  either  string  of  her  sunbonnet, 
when  she  was  met  by  her  eousin. 

'*  Well,"  said  Rose, — "  have  you  been  out  in  the  woods  all 
this  while?" 

"  No." 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  settled  between  you  and  Mr.  Land- 
holm?" 

Elizabeth  stood  an  instant,  with  hands  depending  as  aforesaid, 
and  then  with  a  little  inclination  of  her  person,  somewhat  stately 
and  more  graceful,  gave  Rose  to  understand,  that  she  had  no  con- 
tradiction to  make  to  this  insinuation. 

"  Is  it !  "  said  Rose.     "  Did  he  come  up  for  that  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  he  came  for  better  than  I  do." 

"  Did  you  know  I  wrote  a  letter  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  guessed  it  afterwards.  Rose !  " — said  Elizabeth  suddenly, 
"  there  was  nothing  but  about  Karen  in  it?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world !  "  said  Rose  quickly.  "  What  should 
there  be  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  write  for  ?  " 

"  I  was  frightened  to  death,  and  I  wanted  to  see  somebody ; 
and  I  knew  you  wouldn't  send  for  him.  Wasn't  it  good  I 
did!—" 

Rose  clapped  her  hands.  The  colour  in  Elizabeth's  face  was 
gradually  getting  brilliant.     She  passed  on. 

"  And  now  you  11  live  in  Mannahatta?" 

Elizabeth  did  not  answer. 

"  And  will  you  send  for  old  Mr.  Landholm  to  come  back  and 
take  care  of  this  place  again  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Rose ! — Mr.  Landholm  will  do  what  he  pleases." 

"  You  don't  please  about  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  do,  Rose, — not  to  talk  at  all  on  the  subject !  " 


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Hall,  B.  R.  The  New  Pur- 
chase ;  or,  Early  Years  in  the 
Far  West.     Illustrated.    12mo. 

Cloth,  1  25 

Harry  Muir.  A  Scottish 
Story.    12mo Cloth,      75 

Hamilton's  Philosophy.  Ar- 
ranged and  Edited  by  O.  W. 
Wight.    1vol.    Svo Cloth,  1  50 


The  Same,  in  full  calf,  3  00 

Heartsease  ;  or,  The  Brother's 

Wife.    By  the  Author  of  "  The 
TIeir  of  Eedclyffe."   2  vols.    12mo. 

Cloth,  1  50 

HeirofRedclyfle(The).  ATale. 
2  vols.    12mo Cloth,  1  50 

Heloise  ;  or,  The  Unrevealed 

Secret.    By   Talvi.     12mo 

Cloth,      75 

Holmes's  Tempest  and  Sun- 
shine ;  or,  Life  in  Kentucky. 
12mo. Cloth,  1  00 

The  English  Or- 
phans.   ATale.    12mo.     Cloth,      75 

Home  is  Home.  A  Domestic 
Story.    12rnc, Cloth,      75 

Home;  or,  The  Ways  of  the 
World.  By  Mrs.  Reeves.  1  vol. 
(In  press.) 

Household  Mysteries.    By  the 

Author  of  "Light  and  Darkness." 
lvol.    12mo 1  00 

Hunt's  Pantological  System 
of  History.    Folio, Cloth,  8  00 

Iconographic  Cyclopaedia  of 
Science,  Literature,  and 
Art,       Systematically      Ar- 


ranged. Illustrated  with  500  fine 
steel   plate    engravings.     6   vols. 

Half  morocco,  40  00 

Or  in  full  morocco, 50  06 

Or  in  separate  divisions  :— 

The  Laws  of  Nature;  or, 
Mathematics,  Astronomy, 
Physics,  and  Meteorology 
Illustrated.  With  an  Atlas  of 
twenty-ninestec*  plates,  containing 
twelve  hundred  illustrations.  2 
vols. Cloth,  5  Of 

The  Sciences^  or,  Chemistry, 
Mineralogy,  and  Geology  Il- 
lustrated. With  an  Atlas  of 
twenty-four  steel  plates,  containing 
one  thousand  illustrations.    2  vols. 

Cloth,  S  GO 

The  Anatomy  of  the  Human 
Body;  or,  Anthropology  Il- 
lustrated. With  an  Atlas  of 
twenty-two  steel  plates,  containing 
six  hundred  illustrations.    2  vols. 

Cloth,  3  00 

The  Countries  and  Cities  of 
the  World;  or,  Geography 
Illustrated.  Including  a  Com- 
plete German  and  English  Geo- 
graphical Glossary.  With  an  Atlas 
of  forty -four  steel  plates,  containing 
Geographical  Maps  and  Plans  of 
Cities.    2  vols. Cloth,  5  00 

The  Customs  and  Costumes  of 
People  of  Ancient  and  Mod- 
ern Times ;  or,  History  and 
Ethnology  Illustrated.  With 
an  Atlas  of  eighty-one  steel  plates, 
containing  fourteen  hundred  illus- 
tration s.    2  vols Oloth,  8  00 

The  Warfare  of  All  Ages  ;  or, 
Military  Sciences  Illustrat- 
ed. With  an  Atlas  of  fifty-ono 
stcel  plates,  containing  fifteen  hun- 
dred illustrations.    2  vols..  .Clot'A,  5  00 


5.  gtpfktott  &  Ctfjqptngfi  ^nblkation*. 


MISCELLANEOUS-Continued. 


The  Navigation  of  All  Ages; 
or,  Naval  Science  Illustrat- 
ed. With  an  Atlas  of  thirty-two 
steel  plates,  conta  uing  six  hundred 
illustrations.    2  vols* Cloth,  4  00 

The  Art  of  Building  in  An- 
cient nud  Modern  1'uiea; 
or,  Architecture    Hlustrat 

ed.  "With  an  Atlas  of  sixty  steel 
plates,  containing  1100  illustrations. 
2  vols Cloth,  6  0G 

The  Religions  of  Ancient  and 
Modern  Times  ;  or,  Mythol- 
ogy Illustrated.  With  an 
Atlas  of  thirty  steel  plates,  contain- 
ing eight  hundred  illustrations.  2 
vols. Cloth,  4  00 

The    Fine    Arts     Illustrated. 

Being  a  Complete  History  of  Sculp- 
ture, Painting,  and  the  Graphic 
Arts,  including  a  Theory  of  the 
Art  of  Drawing.  With  an  Atlas  of 
twenty-six  steel  plates,  containing 
five  hundred  illustrations.    2  vols. 

Cloth,  4  00 

Technology  Illustrated.  Being 
a  Series  of  Treatises  on  the  Con- 
struction of  Roads,  Mridges,  Canals, 
Hydraulic  Engine;.  Flouring  and 
Spinning  Mills,  and  on  the  Prin- 
cipal Proceedings  iu  Cotton  Manu- 
facture, Coining,  Mining,  Me- 
tallurgy, Agriculture,  &c.  With 
an  Atlas  of  thirty-five  steel  plates, 
containing  1,100  engravings  2 
vols Cloth,  4  00 

A  very  few  copies  only  remain  of  the 
above.    Early  orders  are  neces- 
sary to  secure  them. 

IO.  A  Tale  of  the  Ancient 
Fane.     By  Barton.  12mo.   Cloth,      75 

Irish  (The)  Abroad  and  nt 
Home,  at  the  Court  and  in 
the  Camp.    12mo Cloth,  1  00 

I  sham's  Mud  Cabin ;  or,  Char- 
acter and  Tendency  of  Brit- 
ish Institutions.  12mo.    Cloth,  1  00 


James,  Henry.  The  Nature 
of  Evil,  considered  in  a 
Letter  to  the  Rev.  Edward 
Beccher,  D.D.    1  vol.     16mo. 

Cloth,  1  00 

James,  G.  P.  R.  and  31.  B. 
Field.  Adrien;  or,  The 
Clouds   of  the  Mind.    12ino. 

Cloth,      75 

lameson  (Mi».)  Common- 
olace  Book  of  Thoughts, 
Memories,     and     Fancies. 

12mo Cloth,      75 

Hall  eaif  extra,  1  75 

Johnson,  A.  B.  The  Meaning 
of  Words.     12mo Cloth,  1  00 

Johnston's  Chemistry  of  Com- 
mon Life.  Illustrated  with  nu 
merous  woodcuts.    2  vols.    12mo. 

Cloth,  2  t« 

In  sheep,  2  25 

In  half  calf,  4  00 

Juno  Clifford.    A  Tale.     By  a 

Lady.    With  illustrations.    12mo. 

Cloth,  1  25 

Kavanngh,  Julia.    Women  of 

Christianity,  Exemplary  for 

Piety    and    Charit3'.      12mo. 

Cloth, 


12mo. 


Nathalie.    A  Tnle. 
Cloth,  1 


Madeleine.      12ino. 

Cloth, 

Daisy  Burns,  12mo. 

Cloth,  1 

Grace  Lee.  ..Cloth,  1 

Rachel  Grny.  12mo. 

Cloth,  0 

The  same.    £  volumes. 

Half  calf,  10 

Keats'  Poetical  Works.  1  vol. 
12mo Cloth,  1 

Gilt  edges.  1 
Antique  or  extra  morocco,  3 


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